


Hawk and Wolf Go Hunting

by lyriumlovesong



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Antiva, F/M, Fenris Has Issues, Fenris Has a Hair Fetish, Fenris Needs a Hug, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot, Purple Hawke, Shameless Smut, Tevinter Imperium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7125613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after the events of Dragon Age II. Fenris and Hawke head to Tevinter to break some slaver kneecaps. Frequent smut, but also romance and adventure as they travel and meet new OCs and have tender fluffy moments together on the run.</p><p>Most characters are owned by Bioware, no copyright infringement intended, blah blah blah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke patches Fenris up after the battle with the Templars. She explains that she can't stay in Kirkwall and asks him to join her on the run.

The soft tap on the door was not altogether unexpected, but still it made Fenris jump. He’d been more than halfway to the bottom of a bottle of wine, lost in thought in front of a warm fire in his bedroom.

Three days had passed since Meredith’s defeat. The battle had drained them all, he knew. He’d spent that first night awake, unable to ignore the searing pain in his markings long enough to catch even a moment’s rest. Each day since had brought more relief. The longer he was away from magic, the better he felt. But he was exhausted still, feeling the fatigue in his very bones. The wine brought a welcome warmth to his cheeks, and he’d planned to finish the bottle and retire early, hopefully to get some restful sleep for the first time in weeks.

Another tap, more insistent this time, came from the entry of the dirty, drafty mansion. Fenris set the bottle down and rose, several healing wounds from the battle twinging sharply as he stretched. Out the bedroom door and down the stairs he strode, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He crossed the front hall in a few strides of his long legs and opened the door, already knowing who was on the other side.

Caitlin Hawke, the woman the people were calling the Champion of Kirkwall, stood on his doorstep, her cloak speckled from the gentle rain that had begun to fall. Her eyes turned upward to meet his, and she gave a small smile.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, “I was wondering when you’d come.” His soft eyes gazed fondly at her, drinking in her effortless good looks. He’d missed her these past couple of days.

“When are you going to call me Cait like I’ve been asking you to for years?” she asked him, shaking her head. “And are you going to invite me in, or just let me stand out here in the wet all night while you ogle?”

“By all means,” he replied, and he stepped back and opened the door wide, allowing her to duck in past him. She headed straight toward the room upstairs where the fire was lit, pulling off her cloak as she went. Closing the door behind her, Fenris turned and followed. He felt like he’d spent half his life like this, trailing in Caitlin’s quick footsteps. Watching her ample hips sway to and fro as she climbed the stairs, he thought to himself that there were certainly worse ways to pass one’s time.

Caitlin hung her cloak on an unused wall sconce and turned to him. She had this way of looking at him--looking _through_ him--that was at the same time endearing and unnerving. Her gaze met his and he knew she was trying to read him before speaking. She had been careful not to coddle him since the night he’d killed Hadriana, but the concern was evident on her face.

“Are you… _how_ are you?” she asked, taking a step toward him. Fenris gave a small shrug, then winced. A deep slash on his ribs seemed to have had reopened when he’d stood, and the fatigue left over from battle had robbed him of his ability to be completely stoic.

“Hurt, but I’ll live,” he said, knowing she had seen him flinch. No point in lying. Caitlin took another tentative step toward him. Fenris noticed for the first time that she had a small bag slung over her shoulder. He looked back up at her eyes--that soft, bright blue-green like sea glass. No point in downplaying his injuries either, it would seem. She’d come on a mission.

“You took some pretty impressive blows from those Templars,” she said. “I just thought… Oh, Fenris, you’re bleeding. It’s showing through your shirt, look.” Her slender fingers gestured toward his ribs. She was chewing on her bottom lip now, a habit he’d noticed she would adopt whenever she was nervous. Fenris almost laughed but stopped short, not wanting her to feel as though he was trying to dismiss her concerns. He heaved a playfully dramatic sigh and sank into his chair.

“All right, if it’ll make you feel better,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head to expose the cuts and scratches across his chest and sides, “go ahead.” He spread his arms open, as if to surrender.

Caitlin looked almost apologetic as she removed the bag from her shoulder, setting it on the table next to him and pulling out tinctures, herbs, and bandaging.

“I just… you never ask for help, Fenris,” she said softly. “And look at you. Some of these are quite deep. I don’t want to see you survive everything you’ve been through and then die of mormal.”

Fenris concealed a grin, inwardly grateful for her concern. Following the battle, he had spent the first night at the Hawke Estate. She hadn’t asked him then if he wanted anyone to tend to his wounds. She had known his markings were in agony, and that more magic, even the healing kind, would only make things worse. And any kind of physical touch was certainly out of the question. He was barely able to articulate his needs at all that night, so great was the pain.

And so she had gently undressed him from his armor, helped him into her bed, and laid awake beside him all night, moving only to get him drinks of water and tend the fire. She had left early in the morning to attend to some sort of business with Varric, and he had slipped off to his own mansion to recover alone, not wanting to rob her of another night’s sleep.

If there was one thing Caitlin was good at, it was taking a hint. She had given him three full days to rest on his own, but now her concern had evidently won out. He found he didn’t mind. She squinted against the dim light as she examined the deep cut across his ribs, which was now definitely bleeding anew.

“This should really be closed,” she said, looking up. “It’s going to take a long time to heal on its own.”

“Do what you feel you must,” Fenris replied. He watched her light a candle on the table and then dab an astringent-smelling tincture on the wound, and after a sharp stinging sensation that made him involuntarily hiss, the pain gradually dulled. Another strongly scented liquid went into her hands, and she spread it carefully over her fingers, apparently cleansing them. She scrunched one eyelid closed, holding a needle up to the candlelight and deftly poking a length of thick black thread through its small eye. Then, touching his skin with her left hand, she gently brought the edges of the wound together and began to stitch, the very tip of her pink tongue poking between her lips in concentration. He barely felt the needle moving in and out, but the thread pulling the muscle together was a strange sensation.

“Hawke,” he said after a moment’s silence, watching her nimble fingers work.

“Hmmm?” she replied, not looking up. Her work was swift but careful as she bound his wound closed with measured, even stitches.

“Do you suppose you could do a little decorative pattern when you’re done? Maybe a fleur de lis?”

Caitlin snorted and glanced up briefly.

“Do I seem like the sort of girl who would have sat through needlework lessons?” she asked, smiling. “Besides, can you imagine what Isabela would say if she knew you had a fancy flower embroidered on your chest?”

“I can, actually,” Fenris said, with a wry smile. He attempted a mimicry of the seafarer’s dusky, sultry voice. “‘What are you, an Orlesian dandy?’”  
  
They both chuckled, the first time they’d shared even a small laugh in a long time. There hadn’t been much to find joy in for many weeks. Caitlin looked up again, grinning.

“I can’t stitch while you’re laughing,” she said, and Fenris drew a breath and held it, pursing his lips together and furrowing his brow in a comical expression of feigned seriousness. He arched an eyebrow and turned toward her. Caitlin laughed again, this time a true belly laugh, loud and clear and beautiful like a silver bell, and contagious as always. He let out his breath in his own low, throaty chortle, and soon they had both dissolved into laughter. Caitlin leaned sideways against his leg, her head bowed against his knee and her stitching hand in the air as her shoulders shook with giggles. His own laugh mellowed as she looked up at him again, her eyes wet from their shared mirth. Her face relaxed into a wide smile as she collected herself. Fenris returned it.

“It’s good to see you happy,” she said. He leaned back against the chair again, his lean muscles relaxing as he took a deep breath.

“It’s good to _be_ happy, Hawke. I wasn't sure it would ever happen for me.”

Their grins lingered as her focus returned to his wound, which had bled a bit more during their fit of laughter. She gently wiped it clean and resumed her stitches. Fenris watched _her_ this time, rather than just her fingers. She had changed so much since they’d met.

For one, her hair was much longer. Constant battles and negotiation attempts between Qunari and human, Templar and mage had meant little time for something so frivolous as a hair cut. When they’d met, it had barely skimmed her shoulders in soft, bouncy, dark waves. Now it hung heavily over her shoulder in a thick plait. He privately thought it suited her, but he knew she was already tired of it getting caught in her armor. He’d have to enjoy it while he could, before she realized she now had time to have it sheared short again. His mind wandered, wondering what it would look like if she let it down, cascading in waves over bare porcelain collarbones. He imagined intertwining his long fingers through it, feeling the silky tresses slip between them. A gentle stirring below his belly made him stop short, coming back to reality and watching her tie off her thread, his wound now knit neatly closed. The wine was really getting to him now.

Caitlin stood, putting the needle away and taking the bottle of astringent tincture again and leaning over to dab at the smaller cuts on his chest. It was strange to see her without armor on. She had put on a simple white tunic and leather leggings today, and when she bent over the way she was now, he could catch glimpses of her smallclothes down the loose neck hole, which she hadn’t bothered to lace very snugly. The sleeping dragon in his loins stirred again, and he deliberately looked away. Too busy to notice, Caitlin kept working.

Her touch was light and gentle, and she avoided making contact with his markings as she tended his wounds. She meticulously dabbed every little cut she saw, working on his chest and belly first, then making him turn away from her so she could tend to his back where some flanking blows had caught him. He was glad at the excuse to look at something else, something that didn’t have a slender waist and round, firm breasts he’d been aching to touch again for months. But the sparsely furnished room with its cobwebs and dirty windows offered little distraction, and he still found it hard to keep his mind from wandering. He straddled the chair backward, arms crossed over its ornate carved back, rubbing at one of the lyrium markings on the back of his hand to keep himself from getting too carried away. Finally, she told him he was free to turn around again, and he obliged, grabbing the wine bottle as he settled back in his chair.

“Drink?” he asked, offering it to her. She made a motion to take it, then noticed her red scarf still wrapped around his outstretched wrist. She touched it gingerly, and he saw a momentary tremble in her fingertips.

“You still wear this,” she said. It wasn’t a question, Fenris noticed. More of a weighted statement, heavy with unspoken emotion. “You’ve had it on ever since… ever since that night.”

She had given it to him the night he’d left her, a thousand lifetimes ago, it seemed. She hadn’t spoken, just gently stopped him as he made to leave the room, taken his arm, and tied the scarf around his wrist. Words hadn’t been necessary. He knew what the scarf had meant.

_I’ll wait._

And wait she had, despite the flirtatious advances of Anders and the temptation of comfort in Isabela’s bed. She had never wavered in her fidelity, and he’d never removed the scarf. He’d returned to her eventually, once he’d found the sense to do so. Maker, he’d been stupid. But they’d ended up where they needed to be, he supposed. Still...

Caitlin looked up, interrupting the half-formed thought playing at the edge of his brain.

“Why?” she asked. “You came back to me. Why continue to wear it now?”

It was a reasonable question. Fenris swallowed hard, trying to articulate the answer.

“Comfort, I suppose,” he said after a long pause.

“Comfort?” she asked. She was looking at him with that searching sort of gaze again, reading him. He looked away, studying the stonework on the fireplace as he considered how to explain.

“When you’re not with me, it… reminds me. That you waited. That you were faithful. It gives me peace when you’re not here.”

Caitlin gave him another gentle smile.

“What if I _wasn’t_ ever _not_ with you?” she asked, reaching to take the bottle now. “It’s about time we got you out of this hovel anyway. It’s damp and cold as a welldigger’s arse in here.”

She took a swig and leaned a hip against the table.

“Do you want… are you asking me to move in with you?” he asked, looking back at her with uncertainty.

“Well, no. Not exactly. I don’t think I can stay in Kirkwall, or even in the Free Marches, for that matter. Not after all this.”

“You’re leaving?” Fenris asked, astonished. “You worked so hard to get the estate back after your uncle squandered the family fortune. I’d have thought you’d want to grow old there, to keep it in the family when you… if you have children of your own. Someday.”

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. Neither of them had ever brought up children before. There was a long pause.

“Awkward,” she finally said, the shadow of a grin on her lips. Fenris cleared his throat nervously. She took another drink.

“I do want to stay,” she said, shrugging, “but I don’t see how that’s an option just now. The estate will stay in the Hawke family name, and I’ve entrusted Varric to stay there and hire caretakers to help maintain it while I’m gone.”

“How long do you expect to be away?”

“No idea. Maybe I won’t ever return.” She stared at the bottle, looking a bit sad at that thought. “I get the feeling this battle was just a taste of what’s to come. Tensions between the Mages and the Templars have been running high for an age now. I fear I may have just started a war. We’ll need… _I’ll_ need to leave. To go into hiding for a bit. The Chantry will be after my blood.”

Fenris rolled the wine cork along the table, thinking. Of course, she was right. He hadn’t stopped to think about it, but there wasn’t any way she could stay in the city after what had happened.

“Are you asking me to come with you?” he asked, not looking up.

“Yes,” Caitlin said, setting the bottle back down. There was another pregnant pause, and he had almost opened his mouth to reply when she went on. “But please don’t answer me tonight. Think about it first. I want you to be sure.”  

 _I want you to be sure._ Fenris tried to avoid reading more meaning into that sentence than there was. But the shame flooded his heart again as he thought about his decision to run away, to leave her wondering and waiting for three years.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she was saying now. “We’ll be on the run, camping in the wild, living off the land and trying not to stay in one place for too long. I wish I didn’t have to ask, but I just can’t stay. And I can’t fathom anyplace else feeling like… feeling like _home_ if it’s not with you.”

Fenris let the words linger in the air for a moment before he responded.

“How long before you depart?”

“A week, at most,” she replied, now turning her gaze and gathering the various bottles together, packing them carefully in her bag and padding them with bandaging material to keep them from breaking. “I can’t linger more than is necessary to make arrangements. But I won’t leave without hearing from you first. Come talk to me whenever you’re ready.”  
  
She leaned over, one hand gently resting over the red scarf around his wrist and the other cupping his jaw, careful not to touch his markings. Her lips touched his temple, and he felt the stirring in his loins again. But before he could decide whether to turn his face upward to her for a real kiss, she was already pulling away from him and turning, grabbing her cloak off the sconce and swinging it around her.

“Keep those stitches dry,” she advised over her shoulder.  
  
And then she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gives Hawke his answer.

“We have the tent packed, cooking supplies gathered, plenty of potions and injury kits, some rations to get started, certainly no shortage of weapons… I think we’re almost ready to leave when the time comes.”

Caitlin crossed a few items off a sheaf of vellum, talking to her Mabari war hound, Rafael, as she did so. The dog was chewing with gusto on a large veal bone, ignoring her entirely.

“You're going to have to carry some packs, you know. A mount would be nice, but it would be another mouth to feed and I can’t see us being very inconspicuous on horses.” She paused with a frown, the nib of her quill hovering over the word APPLES and dripping a fat black ink droplet onto her list. “If there’s even an ‘us’ to be considered.” She added a question mark next to the word, the pointed tip of the quill scratching sharply against the surface.

A thundering knock sounded down in the entry hall, followed by Rafael’s loud, booming bark as he bounded out the study door and down the stairs, ears standing alert and tail wagging, his veal bone forgotten.

Caitlin tossed her quill down haphazardly, spattering more ink on the list, and hurried after him. After bustling across the entry hall, she composed herself and pulled open the small window at the top of the large wooden door, peering out. Fenris looked back at her from the front step and gave a small wave. Closing the tiny square shutter again, Caitlin took a huge breath, steeling herself as she grasped the cool iron of the handle. She opened the door.

“Fenris,” she said, looking up at his tall figure silhouetted against the pink-orange fire of the blooming Kirkwall sunset. Stepping aside, she gestured toward the inside of the estate. “Come in.”

Rafael bounced up to meet Fenris by the fire in the entry hall, standing on his hind legs and placing his huge paws on the elf’s shoulders. Caitlin closed the door, her heart hammering.

_What if he says no?_

It was a question she’d asked herself a dozen times since their last meeting two nights ago, and one she’d posed to Varric the previous day as they worked on packing provisions for her journey.

“Nug shit,” he’d replied curtly, shoving Rafael’s nose out of a bag of hardtack. “Only thing that loves you more that that elf is this sodding dog. He’ll come with you, or I’m the next Paragon.”

But as certain as the dwarf had been, Caitlin still had her doubts. Her belly did flip flops as she turned to face Fenris. He was tousling the dog’s fur between his ears, grinning.

“Such a vicious beast you are,” he said. He turned to look at Caitlin. “He acts like he hasn’t seen me in a month.”  
  
"Well,” she replied, “it's been almost a week. And the last time he saw you, you were in a lot of pain. You couldn’t have noticed, of course, but he stayed awake with us all night on the floor at the foot of the bed. He was quite concerned.”

The dog gave a small whine as if to agree, then pawed insistently at the elf’s arm.

“Rafe, that’s enough. Leave him be.”

At the sound of Caitlin’s voice, the huge hound reluctantly but obediently returned all four paws to the ground and lay down in front of the hearth, staring between them. Fenris turned his moss-green gaze to meet hers. She held it for a fraction of a second before looking away toward the upper level of the estate. She needed a drink.

“I was just about to open a bottle of wine. Want to join me?”  
  
“No,” said Fenris, stepping forward. “I want to talk, and I'd rather not have my brain muddled.”

Caitlin took a long breath inward, nodding. Her lip found its way between her teeth as Fenris began to untie the red scarf around his wrist.

“What… what are you doing?” she asked after a moment, feeling her eyes sting as they welled up.

“I’m taking this off,” he told her, picking at the tight knot. “I won’t be needing it any longer.”

He looked up from his wrist and saw a tear spill over onto her pale cheek. She could feel her bottom lip threatening to quiver but attempted to hold it in. He frowned, reached toward her and wiped the tear away with one thumb.

“Hawke. You misunderstand. I’m sorry… I’m not wording this very well. You asked me many years ago if I thought I could ever make a home in Kirkwall. I said I could see myself staying, for the right reasons." He paused, arching an eyebrow. "Did you never wonder why I chose to remain, when I could have been off hunting Danarius? It certainly wasn’t for the culture.”

A wry smile crossed his lips, and he took her hand in his, squeezing it earnestly.

“Before the battle with the Templars, do you remember what I said to you?” he asked her, his eyes now locked on hers. She met them this time, and nodded again. She’d replayed those words in her head so many times these last few days. “I told you that meeting you was the most important thing that had ever happened to me. That I couldn’t bear the thought of living without you. I meant it. I will follow you to the Sundered Sea and back if it means being by your side. I would have told you two nights ago, but I was worried you'd brush it off as a hasty decision and ask me to sleep on it anyway. You are the most stubborn person I think I've met, aside from myself.”

Caitlin buried her face in his chest with a laugh, and let her warm tears come as relief washed over her. His arms wrapped around her and welcomed her into a tight embrace.

When she pulled back a moment later, she gazed up at him and used a long sleeve to wipe away the wet tear tracks shining on her cheeks. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead and took half a step back, resuming his work with the favor tied around his wrist.

“I won’t need this if I have you with me every day,” he told her, pulling at the knot. She watched as his pleasant half-smile turned into a thin line of concentration, then a frustrated frown. “Except the damn thing won’t budge. _Fenedhis_!”

“Here, let me,” offered Caitlin. She stood on the tips of her toes in front of the mantle and reached behind a clock, then brought out a small dagger. Fenris knew she had hiding places scattered throughout the mansion, in case she was ever accosted at home. Caitlin offered her open hand to him, and he placed his forearm in her grip. With one swift jerk of her wrist, the red scarf fell away. Fenris held it in his fingers for a brief moment, examining the ragged fabric.

“It’s probably covered in sweat, blood, and darkspawn spit anyway,” he said, shrugging, and he tossed it into the fire. It blazed brightly for a few seconds, then was nothing but ash. “Honestly, sometimes all it reminded me of was my own stupidity, leaving the way I did. I was a fool.”

Caitlin shook her head.

“You needed time, Fenris. When you came back to me, I knew you were ready. I knew things would be okay. Never apologize for knowing you needed the space to figure out what you wanted.”

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you,” he told her, looking from the fireplace to her with a smile, “But I’m glad I did it.”

“Say, do you want to go to the market with me before it closes?” asked Caitlin brightly, suddenly remembering her list.

“The market? Now?” he replied, looking bemused. “It’ll be dark soon. What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

A smile lit up her face as she replied, “I want to buy some fruit.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Hawke get drunk on cham.

The market was quiet, most of the sound coming from merchants beginning to pack up their wares for the night. Caitlin found a grocer and purchased a small wheel of cheese and a sack of fresh apples, their rosy skins reflecting glossily the waning sunlight overhead. She also purchased some bread from the baker and a couple of lemon-soaked cakes for breakfast. Fenris had excused himself for a short time and returned with something concealed in paper, unwilling to tell her what he’d purchased.

“It’s a surprise,” he told her, with a tone that indicated that was that. She abandoned her line of questioning and adopted a dramatic pout, which made him grin. They turned back to the Hightown courtyard, hand in hand. Looking in the direction of Fenris’ mansion, Caitlin spoke up again.

“Do we need to gather your things tomorrow? I’d like to leave before the week’s end.”

Fenris shook his head, looking down at Caitlin’s fingers intertwined with his. The only things left in that mansion now were moth-eaten furnishings, empty bottles, and bad memories.

“Everything I need is right here,” he said. After a moment’s pause, he added, “Except Rafe. I’d be sad if we left him behind.”

Caitlin grinned. The elf and her hound certainly had found a bond with one another.

“Of course he’s coming,” she replied. “I could never leave that big oaf behind, even if I tried. He’d just catch up on his own after a few days.”

They walked up to the mansion with the Amell Crest over the ornate door, and Caitlin let them in. She walked the sack of apples to the kitchen and set them in the cupboard next to their other rations for the journey. Orana, her cook and housemaid, had already gone home for the evening, so supper would be a simple affair.  Caitlin chose a particularly round and shiny apple and set it on a platter with the cheese and bread. From the entry hall, she heard Fenris call out.

“Bring some goblets!”

Curious, she took down two glass goblets from a high shelf and walked back out of the warm kitchen. Fenris wasn’t in the entry hall any longer. She saw him peering over the railing at her from above, on the upper floor of the mansion. He tipped her a wink, then turned and strode into her bedroom. Cocking an eyebrow, Caitlin followed, glasses gently clinking together in one hand as she climbed the stairs with the platter balanced on her hip with the other. Fenris had set the paper-wrapped item on a table near the bedroom fire, and he held out his hands for the glasses. She handed them over and set the supper tray upon the table. Standing by the fire with hands on hips, she watched.

“Are you going to tell me what this thing is?” she asked, amused. Fenris was looking delighted with himself. He took up the mysterious item and began to unwrap it with a flourish. Underneath the paper coverings was a green bottle with an ornate silver filigree pattern etched into the glass. He held it up triumphantly, looking eager for a response. Caitlin tried to look impressed, but wasn't really sure what to say. "Er, the bottle is... lovely. What is it, exactly?”

“It’s a fine sparkling wine from Orlais. It’s what they drink to celebrate special occasions. Danarius used to serve it sometimes. I always wanted to try some, but I never had the coin. Or anyone worth sharing it with.”

He was busy working at the cork now, twisting a copper wire bound around it. Then he looked up.

“You have to aim it away from you when you open it,” he explained, pointing the neck of the bottle toward a blank stretch of wall. He placed his thumbs on the lip of the opening and pressed them outward. The cork shot out with a bang that made Caitlin jump, then ricocheted off the wall and bounced across the stone floor. A thin stream of foam surged from the top of the bottle, splashing onto the hearth. Rafael began to lap it up excitedly.

Fenris carefully poured a glass and handed it to her, looking almost giddy with anticipation. There were hundreds of tiny bubbles rising to the top of the pale golden liquid. Ales had fizz, but nothing like this. It looked delightful, almost alive with effervescence. She sniffed it. It didn’t smell unlike white wine--fruity and crisp.

“Careful, now,” Fenris advised her, as he poured his own glass. “I hear those bubbles go straight to your head.”

Caitlin lifted the glass to her lips and took a tiny sip. The cool drink was sweeter and more refreshing than any other wine she’d ever drunk, and it tickled her nose as she swallowed. A giggle escaped her lips and Fenris looked up at her, smiling.

“You like it?” he asked, beaming. She nodded.

“It’s wonderful, Fenris! Wait ‘til you feel the tickle.”

“Let’s do the thing properly,” answered the elf, lifting his glass toward her. His face became earnest. “To the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas, and to a lifetime of nights spent together.”

A red flush that had nothing to do with the wine crept up Caitlin’s face as they clinked their goblets together and drank in unison. Fenris let out a small cough and shook his head lightly as he swallowed.

“That does tickle.”

She nodded, taking another sizable sip of her glass before setting it down and seating herself in a chair to unlace her boots. After years spent roving the landscape, she was tired of heavy footwear. At home, she preferred to keep her feet bare, enjoying the feeling of cool stone against her feet. Fenris watched her pull at the laces as he drank more of his sparkling wine and took a big bite of the apple.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked around the mouthful of fruit, sitting in a chair across the table from her and chewing.

“We have just about all the provisions we need. I still need to settle some things with Varric tomorrow and get some things from the apothecary, and then we should be ready to go. Isabela is going to take us to Antiva on her ship. We’ll be able to hide there for a time and then head east to Rivain.”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Fenris, swirling his wine thoughtfully.

“Uh oh,” Caitlin replied with a smirk. He didn’t return her smile this time.

“If we’re going to be on the run, we might as well make use of our talents.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Tevinter,” replied the elf bluntly, setting his glass down and leaning forward as he fixed her with a serious stare.

“Oh, Fenris… are you sure you want to go there? To relive all that? Tevinter is… well, what I think you’re asking here is no small order.”

“I’m not saying we topple the magisters,” he answered, lifting his hands. “After Kirkwall I have no doubt that if anyone could do it, you could. But I know we need to lay low. Think for a moment, though. What if we could disrupt the slave trade, and free others from… from what I went through?”

A shadow of pain crossed his face as he said this, and Caitlin could have sworn she saw his markings brighten slightly at the mention of his former life. She wouldn’t argue with him. She couldn’t.

“If that’s what you want to do, that’s what we’ll do,” she said after a short pause, and she busied herself with her boots again. He looked a bit taken aback at her quickness to agree.

“Really?” he asked, sitting back in his chair.

“Yes, really,” she replied. “If it means that much to you, we’ll do it. I had no plans for our travels other than ‘don’t get captured by Templars,’ and you’re right. If we’re going to embark on this big adventure, we may as well do some good in the world.”

“Well,” said Fenris, looking around, unsure of what to do with himself now that he wasn’t having to argue his case. “What of tonight? How shall we pass our time?”

“We enjoy this wonderful wine,” said Caitlin, lifting her glass to her lips again. “And each other.”

Fenris smiled and drained his glass. He poured another and watched as Caitlin stood and stepped toward him. He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture and she sank into his lap, putting an arm around his neck.

“How’s the wound?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Still stings a bit now and then, but it seems to be mending now that you’ve fixed it up.”

He lifted the corner of his shirt and exposed the line of stitches across his ribs, underneath which a thin line of reddish skin appeared to be healing over. She gestured for him to turn slightly toward the fire and examined it in the light.

“It looks good,” she said, running a slender finger along the sutures. The feeling of her touch sent a frisson down Fenris’s back, and she looked up as he shivered. “I’m sorry, are your markings tender today? Would you rather I didn’t touch you?”

“That’s… not the problem at all,” Fenris answered, going ever so slightly pink. “There is no problem in fact. It’s just... nice to feel your fingers on my skin again. Especially when none of them are holding needles.”

“Is that so?” she asked, and traced her hand up under his tunic, running her fingers lightly over his chest and turning it all to gooseflesh. He felt the tingling sensation spread from her touch all the way up to his lips. He licked them nervously. She had paused, watching his reaction. Waiting for permission to keep going. He let out a low purr and slid a hand up to her face, running a thumb along her cheek. Then he pulled her gently toward him so her forehead was touching his, and he could feel her exhale against him, the air from her lips warm and scented like wine. He drank it in.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. It was so rare to hear him speak Elvish, and Caitlin knew precious little of it, but she didn’t need to ask him what his words meant. He tipped his jaw upward and welcomed her lips to press against his, and she knew permission had been granted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy.

Fenris’s head spun as his mouth opened slightly, inviting Caitlin’s tongue inside. He wasn’t sure if it was the fancy Orlesian wine or her, but he felt comfortably drunk as he gripped the soft flesh of her hips and turned her toward him. She slid across his lap obligingly, straddling his legs. He fumbled with the belt that cinched her tunic around her waist, fingers trembling. Their supper lay forgotten on the table, and Rafe had abandoned his station by the fire to go find his veal bone again.

He felt her hands slide upward under his tunic, coaxing it off him, and he lifted his arms so that she could bring it over his head. She tossed it behind the chair. Fenris’s fingers returned to her belt, and he tried unsuccessfully to undo it again, cursing under his breath. He felt Caitlin’s nimble fingers gently squeeze his, and he let go, watching her easily undo the buckle and slide the belt from around her middle. Her red tunic, bearing the family crest, hung looser on her frame now. She stepped backward off his lap and slipped out of it, taut muscles standing out in the firelight as she worked her way out of everything but her smallclothes. Fenris noticed that his pants were now feeling uncomfortably tight.

Caitlin came back to his lap, sliding up on him so that the warmth between her legs was squarely over his crotch. He knew she must be able to feel him growing hard against her clothing. As if to confirm this, she slid herself backward and then forward again, rubbing herself against him. He moaned and pulled her to him again, planting his lips on her collarbone and trailing gentle kisses along it as his hands reached up to cup her breasts.

The last time he’d been with her like this--the _only_ time--there hadn’t been much of a lead-up. He’d been too hungry for her, and she had been all too willing to let him hurry. In their haste, they hadn’t been able to explore anything about one another’s bodies. And after he’d come back, well… there had been a slower burn this time. Hawke had been patient, even when he knew his kisses had left her aching for more, and for that he was grateful. But now he was ready.

One of her hands slipped down between her legs, and for a moment Fenris’s mind thrilled at the idea of her touching herself. But rather than slipping into her own underthings, he felt her fingers working busily at the laces of his leather pants. He sensed their snug pressure give way, and her hand returned to his chest.

His mouth had found her neck now, and he gave her a sharp nip that made her gasp in surprise. He smiled and pulled away to look at her. He noticed her braid again and pulled it to the front of her chest.

“May I?” he asked, touching the tie at the end of her plait. She nodded, and he gently pulled it out and began unweaving her dark hair. It smelled like lavender flowers mixed with the heady scent of her sweat, and as soon as he had it all unfurled, he buried his hands in it, gripping it near her scalp and weaving his fingers through it to the ends. One hand dropped to the middle of her back, and he began to undo the stays of the binding across her breasts. He freed her of the garment, adding it to the growing heap behind the chair. Her nipples, small and pink and stiff, peeked out through the curtains of hair that fell forward over her shoulders. He ran a thumb over one of them, and she gave a shiver of pleasure. His other hand was still combing lightly through her hair, massaging her scalp softly and working through the lengths of dark waves. It was as much for himself as it was for her, maybe moreso, but she closed her eyes in an expression of contentment nonetheless as he stroked her temple for another handful.

“Enjoy it while you can,” she said quietly, eyes still shut. “It’s getting cut off before we leave.”

“Had a feeling,” he replied sadly, not even trying to mask his disappointment. “But I do intend to make the most of it tonight.”

Caitlin leaned in for another deep kiss, wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck. She finally drew back for air after several long moments, and looked into his eyes as she traced little circles over his chest with her other hand.

“What do you want, Fenris?” she asked.

“Well, I’d have thought that was fairly obvious,” he said, pressing down on her thighs as he bucked his hips upward slightly, rubbing against her again. She grinned and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

“No, I mean… what do you _want_ ? Last time we just skipped to the main event. Seems like maybe we should take our time tonight. What do you _like_?”

Fenris considered. “I’m… not sure. I never really had a say in anything I did before. I wasn’t there for my own pleasure.”

Caitlin pushed herself backward and looked him in the eye again. She could have slapped herself. What an impossibly stupid question. It was hard to remember sometimes that Fenris had never been with anyone else, aside from taking demands from Danarius and Hadriana.

“I’m so sorry, Fenris. That was an insensitive question. I didn’t think...”

But there was no anger on the elf’s face.

“Thank you for the concern. But it isn’t necessary. You didn’t intend any malice, and my past isn’t something I want you feel you have to constantly worry about. The fact that you even think about it is enough.”

Caitlin wasn’t sure what to say to that, and she was momentarily concerned that she’d killed the mood, but then Fenris’s hands found her breasts again and began to knead their soft flesh.

“Is there anything you think you _might_ like? Something you’d like to try?” she asked, reaching a hand down to press against his pants. She could feel his hard length against her palm and ran her hand firmly along it. He let out another purr, closing his eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy everything you’ve got planned,” he said, leaning back to give her room to work. She continued stroking her hand against him.

“It can’t all just be _my_ plans.”

“If you keep that up, we won’t have long to execute _anyone’s_ plans,” Fenris said, now arching his back. Caitlin stopped, bringing her hands back up to his chin.

She kissed him again, letting one of her fingers wander up his jawline to trace the point of his long ochre-colored ear. He pulled back slowly from her and looked a bit nervous as he searched for words, which began to fall out of his mouth in a stammer.

“I suppose I might like… well, I’ve never had anyone… their mouth?” he finished, his voice trailing off at the end as though it were more of a question than a statement. Caitlin smiled and kissed his collarbone. Her lip brushed against one of his markings and she felt a sort of electric buzz as it flashed bright for a fraction of an instant. Fenris hissed quietly and then reached to cup the back of her head in his hand, lacing his fingers through her hair again.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “They do that sometimes when I’m… stimulated. It didn’t hurt you did it?”

“No,” she assured him. “ _I’m_ sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

She trailed her kisses down his chest, avoiding the markings that crossed his body and sliding backward off the chair to her knees. By the time she got to his belly, Fenris was practically panting. He was reclining all the way in the chair now, head pressed into the plush embroidered back, eyes closed.

“This isn’t going to last very long, Hawke,” he told her.

“That’s fine,” she whispered between kisses, gripping the sides of his leather leggings. He lifted his hips and she slid them off, tossing them behind her.

He almost stopped her, almost told her no. He’d spent every night for the past three years thinking of their night together, and all the things he’d want to do to her-- _with_ her--once he had the chance again. He had all those nights to make up to her. And now here they were, and all she cared about was pleasing _him_. After _he_ had been the one who walked out. He wasn’t sure he deserved it. In fact, he felt pretty confident he didn’t. He opened his mouth to say something at the same time she opened hers, taking the very tip of his erection between her lips and robbing him of his words.

The sound of his resulting moan made Caitlin ache between her legs, but she could wait. She wanted so badly to make him understand that he wasn’t here to serve, that he didn’t exist to make her happy, and that his needs weighed as much as her own.

She curled her fingers along his shaft and slowly stroked up and down as her tongue ran along his head, licking softly at the sensitive little delta where they met. She felt the fingers in her hair grip tighter and heard the squeak of skin against polished wood as his other hand squeezed the carved armrest. She sucked at him more hungrily now, knowing he was right on the edge.

Fenris had never felt anything like this. He’d thought their shared night together was exquisite, but Caitlin had just opened the door to sensations he had no idea could exist.

His breath caught in his throat as she began to stroke harder, and almost uncontrollably he bucked his hips in time with her. And then, seconds later, waves of ecstasy came crashing over him, and he let out a growl that gradually transformed into a low cry of pleasure as he spasmed in her mouth. His markings crackled and flashed, but the pain barely registered compared to all the rest. She carried him over the crest of his orgasm, still stroking and sucking, prolonging his climax.

And then it was over, and instinctively she knew to stop touching him, leaning away as Fenris collapsed into the back of the chair, thoroughly exhausted, chest heaving. His markings were lit up like a Feast Day lantern.

Ignoring the throb between her legs, she climbed back up to sit on his bare thigh, slinging her crossed legs over the arm of the chair and curling against him as he breathed deeply, trying to slow his racing heart. She ran one hand through his hair, watching his chest expand with each breath and his adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat as he swallowed hard. Eyes still shut, he wrapped an arm around her back, his other hand feeling around for hers. She laced her fingers between his, and they sat there for a long time like that in the warm, flickering light from the fire. She thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but then he spoke in a low rumble.

“Told you we didn’t have much time.”

She leaned her head against his warm shoulder and wiped a bead of sweat from his temple.

“We have every night for the rest of our lives, Fen.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris explains his markings. Caitlin makes him rethink magic just a bit.

Fenris hadn't ever spent an entire night with anyone else before, save the night of the battle with the Templars. And, of course, lying there paralyzed by pain while Caitlin stood vigil and fed him sips of water barely counted. That night had seemed to stretch on for years, and he hadn't been sure the pain was ever going to stop. He'd wanted so badly to be in her arms, but even the feeling of the soft sheet against his back was pure agony. He vaguely remembered reaching for her at one point, linking his pinkie finger into hers and feeling grateful for a brief moment’s contact. But he'd only been able to bear it for a few seconds and then had to let go, to curl into a ball again and try to breathe through the pain.

If he'd been able to look up, he'd have seen tears trickling over the bridge of Caitlin’s nose, staining the sheets in a growing dark circle as they fell.

All in all, not the best night for either of them.

But _this_ , thought Fenris to himself, _this_ was perfection. When he'd finally found the strength to stand again, they'd gathered the remains of the food and carried it to the bed. They’d eaten supper there together, him still completely naked and her half so, both comfortable enough in their own skins with each other that they found covering up unnecessary. They'd finished the bubbly Orlesian wine and opened another bottle of less lavish stuff, which Fenris frankly favored, anyway.

The wine, like so many other things, was something he’d imagined himself liking because it had been a symbol of a life he'd envied as a slave. Fine clothes, strange delicacies, and apparently effervescent drink were all things he could well do without. He preferred simplicity. A plate of cheese and apples and bread shared on the bed of a beautiful, bare-breasted woman was plenty indulgent enough for him. But Caitlin had enjoyed the wine, and that was worth the full sovereign he'd paid for it.

Now they had brushed the bread crumbs off the bed and laid back together under the warm, soft covers, her resting against his shoulder, finishing off the second bottle and talking. His lyrium had finally calmed, no longer glowing or burning, now just a dull ache. Caitlin was looking at the lines along his arm. She often studied them just like this, her expression a mixture of admiration and pity.

“Would you like to know how the lyrium markings are made?” he asked her. She turned to meet his gaze. Maybe it was all the wine making him so forthright this evening, or maybe it was something else. Either way, the blunt edge on the question caught her by surprise.

She privately thought that she wasn't sure she _did_ want to know, but when Fenris was asking to open up to her about his past, she felt she could hardly turn him down. He was still healing, airing out the deep internal wounds he bore, and her willingness to hear him was its own kind of salve.

“I'll always listen to anything you'd like to tell me,” she answered after a pause. He took another long sip and flexed his forearm, remembering the details of the ritual as he'd heard it described in Danarius’s notes.

“First, the receiver is tied down and a pattern is carved into the skin with a sharp blade. The Mage chooses a design which has significance to him or her, one that they believe will add additional power to the receiver. Then, the open wounds are packed with lyrium dust. The lyrium burns and bubbles when it contacts the blood, bonding to the layers of skin. Lastly, the Mage touches the lyrium dust and ignites it with a spark of magic. The wounds light up in a bright blue flame, searing the lyrium into the flesh and cauterizing the wounds.”

“Oh, Fen…”

Caitlin’s voice was barely above a whisper. She had no words for the heartache she felt having heard this.

“Then they turn you over, tie you down again, and repeat the ritual on your back.”

She had her hand over her mouth now, shaking her head. He was speaking about this awful thing so... _casually_. It unnerved her slightly.

“That's horrible, Fenris,” she said, unsure what else to say. “Maker. I'm so, _so_ sorry.”

“I don't remember it, exactly. Just little fractured memories of a sharp silver blade, and Danarius’s glowing touch, and then being in agonizing pain.”

“No wonder you feel the way you do about Mages,” she breathed, still unable to really comprehend everything he'd just told her, or the dispassionate tone he'd used to describe it.

“It doesn't help,” he conceded. “But that's not the only reason.”

“Do you hate them?”

Caitlin finally asked the question that had been niggling at the back of her mind for some time. Although she would never admit it to Fenris for fear of sounding insensitive, she found the brands beautiful, reminding her of the intricately designed tattoos worn by the Dalish. But, of course, tattoos were usually voluntary.

“My markings, or Mages?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“My markings are a part of me,” he answered simply.  “I cannot hate them without hating myself. As much pain as they have caused me, they eventually brought me to you.”

Caitlin felt a lump rise in her throat at the thought of being his only solace for having had his flesh carved up and set on fire. She'd always considered Fenris a bit of a pessimist, but if that wasn't looking on the bright side of things, she wasn't sure _what_ was.

“Every horrible memory I have is tempered by the recognition that I am here because of them.”

He kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair. There was a long pause as he considered how to answer the second question.

“I don't hate _Mages_ ,” he began, frowning, forming his thoughts carefully. He knew that Caitlin was thinking of her sister. “I hate _magic_ . Mages are just people. You or I could easily have been born with magic in our blood. It's not something one chooses. It would be like hating someone because of the color of their skin, or because they are elf, or dwarf, or human. I have seen enough of that kind of prejudice, and I don't intend to be part of it. But magic… the temptation to use it for selfish means, to justify blood magic… it's more than most people can withstand. Look at Anders. He saved our lives countless times in the Deep Roads, healed me without question when we fought the Qunari, even though he knew what I thought of him. But he _willingly_ let a demon share his body. And it pushed him to slaughter a chantry full of innocent people. And he put you in a position where you had to make an impossible choice.”

His voice was cold now, teeth clenched as he growled the next few words.

“If he weren't dead, I cannot see how I ever could have forgiven him for that. And Merrill, she is _blinded_ by willful ignorance. She believes her brand of blood magic to be benign, above reproach, because she believes she uses it for _good_ . And where did that get her? Her Keeper is dead, and she is a pariah. I fear that one day she, too, will meet a terrible fate, and take others down with her. No, magic eventually taints _everything_.”

“And what of Bethany?” Caitlin asked pointedly, turning to face him. “What of my sister?”

“Bethany is much like you,” he replied, looking her in the eye. “She is strong-willed and her heart is incredibly kind. The spirits will not tempt her easily. But still, I worry. No Mage is immune to possession.”

“Plenty of Mages die without succumbing to demons,” she said defensively. “How can you say magic ruins everything when plenty of perfectly benevolent Mages die of old age?”

“Even if Bethany never succumbs, you have already been impacted by magic’s destruction. Your family escaped to Ferelden because your mother married a Mage. You ran back to Kirkwall to keep your sister safe, and your brother died in the process. You can't tell me that magic has had no effect on you. It's torn your family apart.”

“And that brought _me_ to _you_ , Fenris. Your brands and your former masters, my family running from shame and from the Templars… all of it brought us _here_ , to the same city. Maybe it's the Maker’s divine plan, if you want to call it that. Maybe it's fate, or maybe it's just sheer sodding _luck_ , but whether you want to admit it or not, magic is the reason we are sharing this bed together. Magic is the reason we are sharing our _lives_ together. So don't tell me in one breath that you're grateful that your past brought you here and in the next one tell me that magic will eventually spoil everything it touches. Because that also means you and me. And I _refuse_ to believe that. Not for one damn second.”

The elf opened his mouth as if to respond, but found that words escaped him. Caitlin’s ears had turned a deep crimson, the way they always did when she was angry. He'd seen her upset before, but never at _him_. It was not a feeling he enjoyed, and though it pained him to accept it, she had a good point. He let her words hang in the air for awhile before he replied, studying the churning wine he was rotating around in his glass again.

“Tell me, Hawke,” he said quietly. “Are you always going to be this infuriatingly _right_ about things?”

“Yes!” she burst out.

Fenris looked at her for a second, then pursed his lips, bowed his head into his free hand and tried to hold in a laugh, failing spectacularly. His shoulders shook as his low chuckle reverberated in the stone bedroom.

“It’s… it's not funny,” Caitlin protested. She scoffed loudly. “This is a serious discussion!”

But Fenris’s laughter was making it hard to keep a straight face, and seconds later she was trying to tamp down a grin, herself. It was a _little_ funny.

“Well, at least you know now. Give up early and it'll make this whole thing much easier,” she told him, shrugging.

“I should've learned that from watching you fight darkspawn,” he said, smiling at her as he looked up again. He drained the last of his wine and set his glass on the bedside table, then turned to face her. His expression had changed from amusement to one of genuine esteem. “You certainly don't give up easily. Thank you for that. Because that's _also_ why we’re here now.”

His wine-stained lips found hers, and after a soft kiss, he returned his head to his pillow and closed his eyes, looking truly, _deeply_ content for the first time Caitlin could recall. She sighed, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Rest well, Fen.”

“Goodnight, Hawke.”

Within a few minutes, his breath slowed to a regular rhythm, and she knew he'd drifted off. She propped herself on one elbow and lay there for several minutes, watching his chest rise and fall. After a time, she slipped into slumber herself, curled against him.

  
They both slept soundly, limbs intertwined, until long after the sun had begun to spill into the tall windows of the estate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris asks an important question over breakfast.

Caitlin had never wanted to get out of bed less than she did that morning. She had awoken to Fenris’s gentle snores, his arms enveloping her in such a way that she had to employ all of her considerable dexterity to extract herself without waking him.

She laid his clothes out on the end of the bed and then busied herself with getting dressed. As she made to lace up her bustier, she heard a disappointed-sounding sigh from the bed. Looking up, she saw that Fenris was awake, watching her.

“Do you have to put them away?” he asked. She followed his gaze to her breasts and gave a small laugh, pulling the stays tight and tying them behind her.

“Well, maybe the apothecary would be willing to give me a discount if I don’t,” she answered him, gathering her tunic from the floor where it had been tossed the night before. Fenris groaned a bit as he sat up, and the room spun ever so slightly.

“I think I might still be drunk.”

“I know what you mean,” replied Caitlin, fastening her belt around her middle and straightening her sleeves.

“What was in those bubbles?” he asked gruffly, rubbing his forehead.

“Breakfast will help,” she assured him. “I’ll go ask Orana to make tea.”

But as usual, her sweet and attentive elven cook was two steps ahead of her. The tea was already brewed, and as Orana handed it to her on a platter she whispered with a knowing look, “I wasn’t sure how Mister Fenris took his tea, but I put some sugar and cream on the tray just in case.”

“How did you…?”

“His sword is in the entry hall by the door, Miss. It’s a bit hard to overlook. It’s nearly as tall as me.”

Caitlin smiled at her, opening the pantry door.

“Thank you for thinking of him, Orana.” she said warmly. “There were some lemon cakes I bought from the baker yesterday in the pantry. Do you know what happened to them?”

“I found them when I was getting the tea, Mistress. Here you are.”

The elf had dressed the two cakes with freshly whipped sweet cream, laying them out beautifully on two plates. She added them to the tray.

“You are a treasure,” Caitlin told Orana, beaming.

“Should I expect Mister Fenris to be here for supper?”

“Yes, he’ll be staying here until we depart.”

“I was thinking I would prepare the fish tonight, Miss. Does that please you?”

“Er,” Caitlin said, turning on her way out the door with the breakfast tray. “Better pick another dish, please. Fenris isn’t fond of fish. You can cook it and take it home with you to the alienage, if you like. Share it with someone who needs a hot meal.”

Orana gave a small bow and said, “Thank you, Miss. You are most generous. I’m…”

She paused, suddenly looking incredibly sad.

“I’m going to miss you. You have always treated me well, and you looked after me when I had nobody else. You helped me find a home here in Kirkwall. I will never be able to repay your kindness.”

Caitlin blinked back the stinging sensation in her eyes and said in a choked voice, “I’ll miss you too, Orana. Come now, though, let’s not get ourselves upset. It’s a beautiful day and we’re not leaving just yet. Be sure you have some breakfast yourself.”

The elf nodded and returned to bustling about the kitchen, hoping her mistress wouldn’t notice as she gave her eyes a wipe with her apron. But Caitlin had already turned around, masking a sniffle as she walked back to the bedroom.

Fenris was half dressed when she walked in. He was standing next to the now-empty fireplace, leather leggings on but not yet laced. Her eyes wandered down his bare chest to the little creases at his hips that disappeared into his trousers. If she hadn’t been feeling slightly sick herself, she probably would have torn his pants right back off again, but her need for a hot cup of tea and some food outweighed her momentary lust, and she set the tray on the table.

“That was fast,” he said, looking impressed. “Is Orana secretly a Mage?”

“No, just a mind reader, I think,” said Caitlin pleasantly, still feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving her here in Kirkwall. She handed him a cup of tea, and watched as Fenris put a lump of sugar into it. She took hers black ordinarily, but added a splash of cream to hers today since Orana had taken the trouble. It would feel almost insulting not to make use of her efforts.

They sat down together and ate in near silence, the only sound the clinking of forks against plates and cups against saucers.

The baker in the Hightown market was Ferelden by birth, and the lemon cakes were a familiar treat from Caitlin’s homeland. Slightly vanillaed and soaked in a sweet lemon glaze, they brought back memories of her mother. She savored each bite. Fenris, who had found himself ravenous upon waking, finished his in just a few bites.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, watching her enjoy her cake as he sipped his hot drink.

“Apothecary, first,” she answered. “I need some additional herbs to take along in case I need to concoct anything on the road. I suspect potions merchants will be few and far between unless we’re in a large city. Then I’m going to talk to Varric about arrangements for the estate, and after that I’m going to see Isabela for a haircut.”

Fenris’s face fell slightly at this.

“You’re welcome to join me,” she said, slightly amused at how pouty he’d just become. “Or you could stay here and arrange a funeral for my hair.”

“I’ll come along for the first part of it,” he said, “but I’ll let you and Isabela commit your treachery alone. I don’t think I could bear that.”

Now Caitlin laughed outright, and he smiled at her. Then his expression changed to something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, like a mixture of apprehension and eagerness.

“I’ve been thinking, Hawke. There’s… something I’d like to ask you.”

“Yes, I’ll save you a lock of it and you can sleep with it at night,” she teased around her last mouthful of cake and cream. He gave her a withering look and she attempted to adopt an appropriately cowed expression. “Sorry. Go on.”

Fenris took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?”

Caitlin’s cup stopped halfway to her lips.

“You _are_ still drunk,” she said with a wry smile.

Fenris’s pointed ears lowered slightly, and Caitlin could see she had said the wrong thing. She set down her tea.

“I’ve hurt your feelings, Fen,” she said gently. “I can see that. I’m sorry. You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

Fenris looked up uncertainly, and Caitlin felt a stab of regret, realizing she’d shattered his confidence. She reached over and took his hand.

“I’m sorry, Fen. I shouldn’t have teased. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The elf swallowed hard and began studying the grain of the wooden tabletop.

“Maybe it’s too fast,” he said. “But I just… I love you, Hawke. I can’t imagine being with anyone else, and I don’t see any reason to wait. Especially now, when we’re about to leave. I want all our friends to be there. I want to share this with them. We might not see them again for a long time. Maybe ever.”

Caitlin had thought about marriage, of course. As a little girl she had imagined herself dressed in white, marrying some dark-haired, beautiful, nameless and genderless stranger, the ideal human mate she’d built for herself in her mind. But it wasn’t something she’d given even the smallest consideration to for years. After their first night together, before he had left, there had been a fleeting thought--she and Fenris under a vine-covered arbor in the sunset, hand in hand--but she had dismissed it at the time as childish fantasy. But now, here he was, sitting across from her and talking seriously about the possibility. And she _did_ want to marry him, of course. She'd been faithful to a relationship that hadn't even really _been_ there for three years, and she didn't regret any of it. Would she have felt that way if she hadn't known all along that he was the only one she wanted? And she _did_ want their friends to share in it, and he was right--who knew when they would be back? _If_ they would be back? But Maker, this was sudden...

“It’s too soon. It’s fine,” he was saying. “Forget I said anything.” She realized she’d been sitting there in silence, pondering, while he watched her and waited for a response.

“No, Fenris, it’s… I’m sorry. I just haven’t thought about marrying anyone in a long time. But of course, if it was anyone, it would be you. I love you to the stars and back.”

There was silence in the room as they both got lost in their own thoughts. After several minutes, Caitlin spoke up again.

“Are you… are you actually _asking_? Or just sort of… floating the idea?”

Fenris looked up. It was hard to read her expression, but it didn’t look like one of outright rejection. He stood and took a step toward her, then kneeled in front of her. He needed to make this clear.

“Caitlin Hawke,” he said, taking her hand. “You are the most important person in the world to me. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life, more than I could ever put to words. Nothing would make me happier than calling you my wife. Will you… will you marry me?”

Things were moving so fast, and there was so much else to be done before they left the Free Marches, but hearing those words--hearing him _finally speak her first name_ in his shaking voice--made her heart feel as though it would burst from her chest. She pulled him upward onto his feet, wrapping her arms around his neck and wondering just why everyone was so hell-bent on making her cry today.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Fen. Of course.”

She pressed her lips to his, softly at first, and then he drew her closer, hugging her tight as their kiss deepened.

There was a loud gasp from the doorway, and they turned to see Orana, shielding her eyes and blushing.

“Mistress, please forgive me! I’m ever so sorry, the door was open and I didn’t know Mister Fenris was still in a state of undress. I didn’t mean to look!”

Caitlin laughed.

“He’s only shirtless, Orana,” she said, dropping her arms from his shoulders. He turned quickly to fasten the laces on his pants as Caitlin hurried to the door, putting an arm around the cook. “You didn’t see anything so terrible.”

Fenris was looking at Orana sympathetically, an expression of astute understanding on his face. If this had happened in their former master's house, he knew, she would have been punished. Brutally.

Realizing this went beyond a simple awkward moment for everyone else in a way she couldn’t possibly comprehend, Caitlin ushered her out the door and down the stairs.

“We have some important news, Orana,” she said, changing the subject as they re-entered the kitchen. “Fenris and I have decided to marry.”

“Oh!” squeaked Orana, her face brightening. “Mistress, that’s blessed news! I’m so happy for you. He is a kind man, Mister Fenris.”

“We’re doing it before we leave,” Caitlin went on, “and we’d like to invite our friends to celebrate with us.”

“But you’re leaving so soon!” said the elf, an expression of surprise on her face. “I will need to prepare a fine supper, and a cake, and I will need to get more wine from the merchant! There’s not much time, Mistress. I'll have to get started right away. What sort of dishes would you like me to serve?’

She was already rushing around the kitchen, taking down bowls and ingredients.

“You don’t need to go to all that trouble,” said Caitlin. “Really, whatever supper you already had planned for tomorrow is fine.”

Orana looked at her as though she’d just suggested that Isabela would make a fine Grand Cleric.

“Maker, no!” she said, sounding breathless. “After all you have done for me, you will have a _feast_ for your celebration. I won’t allow you to eat stew for your wedding! A roast pheasant, I think, and some potatoes with gravy, a green salad, some fresh baked bread with plenty of butter… oh, I have _so_ much to do!”

"Thank you, Orana," Caitlin sighed with a smile, realizing there was no dissuading the cook. She turned to return to the bedroom, her stomach feeling as though it was turning somersaults.

A wedding. _Her_ wedding. In less than 48 hours.

After fighting dragons and darkspawn, it should have seemed a lot less terrifying than it did.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Fenris stared out the window of Caitlin’s bedroom, still hardly daring to believe what had just transpired. 

The thought of proposing to her before they departed had only seriously entered his head the night before, as he was facing the idea of going into hiding with her for Maker only knew how long, leaving everything they'd built here in Kirkwall for an unknown future in a place he'd hoped never to return to.

If he'd been anyone else on the outside looking in, he'd have thought it had been fear that drove him to make the decision to ask her, that he was desperately clinging to this relationship like wreckage in a storm, pushing it too quickly into something it might not have been meant to be. But he knew the idea had been lurking there in the back of his head for years, making its way into the scenes he played in his mind when he would lie awake at night, thinking about her, longing to have her in his arms again.

When he’d decided to come back to her and ask forgiveness for walking away, he’d wanted to take things slow, at least physically. His first night with her had been both amazing and terrifying, all at once. Making love to Caitlin had brought memories crashing over him that he hadn’t been prepared for, and then they had slipped from his grasp, leaving only more questions behind. It had been too much.

The things that had never been confusing or overwhelming, however, were his feelings for her. Her outer beauty had been obvious to him from the start, of course. But over their first year together, she had become so much more to him than something nice to look at while they tromped through the streets of Kirkwall or hiked the winding trails up Sundermount. She had proven herself a loyal friend, an able fighter, and a clever strategist. She had a limitless heart, and her compassion for others had made him want to do better--to  _ be _ better.

The night he had left, he thought he might be walking away from his one chance at happiness with another person, that he was tossing aside the best thing that might ever happen to him. It had wrecked him.

And three years and many sleepless nights later, here they were. He had asked her to be his wife, and she had said yes. He kept thinking any moment now he'd wake up and be back in his dilapidated mansion, surrounded by empty wine bottles and cold stone walls, alone. But he didn't, even when he dug and scratched at the brands on the back of his hand to test whether he was dreaming. The pain was, for once, reassuring.

And then Caitlin was standing beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist and following his gaze out onto the bright morning light that shone on the streets of Hightown.

“I think we’d better go tell our friends, don’t you?” she asked.

His lips curled up into a mischievous grin as he turned to look down at her.

“I can’t wait to see Varric’s face.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets a haircut.

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke, how do you move your head with this much hair?”

Isabela was standing behind a seated Caitlin, running her hands through the lengths of deep cocoa-colored hair that were tumbling over the rungs of the wooden chair.

“Hence me asking you for help,” Caitlin answered. “It’s getting ridiculous.”

“I bet it weighs as much as I do. I’m amazed you haven’t given yourself whiplash. I’ll have to get new scissors by the time we’re finished.”

She set about combing water through Caitlin’s hair, picking through the tangles as she went.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to wait until after the wedding night to cut it off?” she asked, a sly grin on her face. “Could be fun for Fenris. Could be fun for  _ you, _ too.”

Caitlin had told Isabela already about the proposal, and she had been predictably delighted, in her own waggish way.

“He’s already pouting about it, but I just honestly cannot stand it anymore. It gets caught in everything. This morning I had to yank some of it out from under him after he rolled on top of it in his sleep. It’s just too much trouble at this point.”

“Shall I save some for him?” Isabela asked, only half kidding.

“You know, I tried to make a joke about that this morning, and he looked at me as if I’d just told him we ought to give sobriety a go. So, perhaps not.”

“Such a serious elf, our Fenris.”

“Not always,” Caitlin said in a protesting sort of tone. “He’s actually quite funny sometimes, Bela. You’d be surprised.”

“Indeed, I would,” replied Isabela, brandishing a sharp silver pair of shears as if it were one of her daggers. “Moment of truth, Hawke. You’re positive?”

She snapped the shanks shut menacingly a couple of times, the sound of metal rubbing against metal whispering softly through the air of her rented tavern room. Caitlin nodded.

“Do it.”

She heard the shears slicing through the first few strands of hair.

“So tell me how Varric reacted to the news,” said Isabela as she worked. “Oooh, I wish I could have seen it!”

“Well, at first he thought we were joking. Once he realized we weren’t, there was a moment where he looked like he was about to have a litter of nuglets.”

Isabela snorted and Caitlin gave a chuckle as she remembered the scene in the library of her estate. She had almost felt bad for blindsiding their friend, who had thought he was just coming over to finalize plans for hiring caretakers.

“Isn’t that a bit  _ sudden _ ?” Varric had asked, looking from her to Fenris and back again. “You’ve been back together for, what now? A couple of months?”

“Well,” Fenris said, giving Caitlin a sidelong glance, “technically, I suppose. But neither of us has wavered for more than three years since we first… realized we had feelings for each other.”

The dwarf gave a snort.

“Getting starry-eyed after one night of humping and then refusing to bed anyone else for a few years doesn’t mean you’re ready to get  _ married _ .”

Fenris’s face had turned a bit red at this remark, and Caitlin saw the bridge of his nose crinkle up the way it did when he was rankled. She interjected.

“Varric,” she said, “It’s not like that. You know I’m not an impulsive person--”

This elicited an outright guffaw from Varric, who gave her a meaningful look.

“--when I’m not drinking,” Caitlin conceded. “And I’m sober as a Chantry mouse at the moment. This is what we want, Varric. We’d  _ hoped _ you’d be happy for us, and that you’d join us tomorrow night for the ceremony.”

The dwarf had looked from her to Fenris again, his face softening.

“‘Course I’m happy for you, if  _ you're _ happy” he said resignedly. “And if you’re both sure this is what you want, wild brontos couldn’t keep me from seeing it happen. I suppose I’m probably the last person you should be listening to for relationship advice, anyhow.”

“I’ll second that,” Fenris had said, icily.

Isabela gave another hearty laugh at the thought of Varric’s face after  _ that _  remark. She had worked her way around to the other side of Caitlin’s hair now and was still busily snipping away.

“Who’s going to marry you?” she asked. “Is there even anyone left in the city to do such a thing? The Chantry is gone, and nobody has replaced the Viscount, so I’m not sure who would even be authorized anymore.”

“We’d planned to ask Aveline, if she’s willing,” Caitlin answered. “We’re about to be fugitives, so the legality of our marriage isn’t really something we’re terribly concerned about. It’s mostly symbolic at this point. We thought she was close enough to official to make it work. And she’s the only one of us who’s done it before, albeit from the other side.”

“What do you plan to wear?”

Caitlin hadn’t thought about that. Her wardrobe was simple, and she liked it that way, but there wasn’t a single thing she could think of that she wanted to wear for her own marriage ceremony.

“I haven’t a clue,” she answered, shrugging. “You don’t have anything I could borrow, do you?”

Isabela snorted.

“Pirates don’t typically wear ball gowns, sweetheart,” she replied. “I could offer to loan you something to consummate in, but there’s no telling what would be on it.”

Caitlin pulled a face, eliciting another laugh.

“I do know of a merchant that may have just the thing,” Isabela said, stepping back with a grin to check that Caitlin’s hair was all evenly trimmed. “We could go tomorrow. I won’t be getting up before noon, most likely. I have a...  _ friend _ coming over to visit tonight.”

She took up a gilt mirror from her bedside table and held it up.

“What do you think?”

Caitlin raised a hand to touch the freshly cut ends of her hair. It would be strange getting used to it. It was a few inches longer than it had been when she’d arrived in Ferelden, a nice compromise for Fenris.

“It’s perfect, Bela. Thank you so much.”

“Of course. We can’t have you looking like a shaggy druffalo at your own wedding.”

Caitlin stood up and stretched her legs, rubbing a bit at her bottom. The Hanged Man was not known for having particularly comfortable chairs.

“Can I help you clean up?” she asked, looking at the piles of hair around their legs.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it. I need to get this room tidied up a bit before tonight anyway. Want me to walk you out?”

The two of them waltzed out of the room and down the stairs, Isabela making suggestions for how they might style her hair for the ceremony. On the way past the bar, Corff the innkeeper gave them a suspicious look.

“The rest of Hawke’s hair better not still be stuck in the floorboards when you leave in two days. I’m not digging it out,” he said, grumpily.

“Honestly, then, what am I paying you for?” Isabella asked him, smirking.

“Tolerating your shenanigans for the past six years,” he replied, polishing a tankard with a frown.

“He’s just angry because he won’t get to see my cleavage everyday,” whispered Isabela as they reached the front door, giving Caitlin a hug.

“Well, who can blame him?”  
  
The pirate gave her a wink, then sauntered away to the back of the inn and up the stairs. Stepping out into the sunlight again, Caitlin began her walk back to Hightown.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris tie the knot.

The ceremony took place in a quiet glen in the woods at the foot of Sundermount, the brilliantly colored mountain sunset peeking through leaves in the forest canopy and speckling the ground with flecks of orange.

Caitlin had found a simple white gown to buy from the merchant Isabela suggested. As she came around a tree and Fenris saw her for the first time wearing it, his stomach leapt up into his throat. It was a breathtaking sight, the fine linen skimming her ample curves and ending in a full skirt that swirled around her ankles, the neckline plunging just enough to display a tantalizing amount of decolletage. Isabela had dressed Caitlin’s hair in beautiful, defined waves that contrasted beautifully against her pale skin and the bright white fabric of the dress. Merrill had crafted a crown of wildflowers for her to wear, and as she walked toward him, barefoot in the plush grass, Fenris felt like he might just weep right there in front of the Maker and everyone.

Aveline watched them with a joyous expression on her face, fondly remembering the day she had been wed, and turned her smile to her own husband Donnic, who was standing witness with the rest of their friends and Caitlin’s sister, Bethany. She could see the look of deep admiration and love on Fenris’s face as he watched his bride step toward them. Aveline thought back to the first time she’d seen the rogue, covered in blood in the Korcari Wilds, trying to help her family escape the Blight. If anyone had told her then that in a few years, that same woman would be standing in front of her looking like something out of a fairy story, marrying a broody and outspoken magic-wary elf after convincing her to fight Templars and free a Circle full of Magi, well… she’d probably have thought they’d been touched in the head. And yet, here they were.

She cleared her throat and looked from Caitlin to Fenris, a small smile on her face.

“We are gathered together, friends, to witness the marriage between Fenris of Seheron and Caitlin Hawke of Ferelden. Before they join together in matrimony, I’d like to take a moment to say something, if I may.”

Caitlin and Fenris both looked a little surprised, but nodded their consent. Aveline looked earnestly into both of their eyes in turn, then spoke to the small gathered clan standing there together in the woods.

“I met Caitlin and Bethany seven years ago, on a trail in the wild parts of Ferelden as they escaped the spread of darkspawn across the land. We lost two great men that day--Bethany’s twin brother, Carver, and my first husband, Wesley Vallen. Our losses deepened our bond as we traveled to Kirkwall together, and I now consider them as close as sisters, two former strangers who have loved and supported Donnic and I as we started our own lives as husband and wife. And through Caitlin’s influence, we were all brought together. All of us--a band of misfits who should have had no other connection or common interests--are standing here side by side because of her choices and actions.”

“In Fenris, I have seen a transformation so great, I would not have thought it possible. And not just from an escaped former slave to a proud free elf. He has become a kinder, more loving person, and his happiness radiates when he is around Caitlin. I can think of no better match for him, and I am honored to be here to join their hands in marriage.”

She looked at Fenris and Caitlin again, both of whom were trying to suppress the lumps in their throats at such a touching tribute.

“If you are both ready, we will begin the vows,” she said. They nodded again, and Aveline looked to Bethany. “If you will bring us the rings, please.”

Bethany stepped forward, offering two simple silver bands to Aveline. They had been Bethany and Caitlin’s parents’ wedding rings, once upon a time, resized by a smith who had been glad to do it in a hurry for a generous amount of coin. Aveline handed Caitlin’s ring to Fenris and Fenris’s to Caitlin. She looked at the elf.

“You first, Fenris.”

“I swear unto the Maker,” he said, his green eyes locked on Caitlin’s, “and the Holy Andraste, to love this woman the rest of my days. I give you this ring, a circle without end, to seal my promise and symbolize my faith for all eternity.”

He slid the silver ring onto Caitlin’s finger, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He could see a tear shining at the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment.

“Caitlin, you may now state your vows and present Fenris with his token.”

“I swear unto the Maker, and the Holy Andraste, to love this man the rest of my days. I give you this ring, a circle without end, to seal my promise and symbolize my faith for all eternity.”

She held Fenris’s hand in hers, fingers shaking as she presented his ring. It stuck stubbornly on his second knuckle, and he made a small grimace as Caitlin wiggled it a bit, easing it the rest of the way on. Their friends all gave a small chuckle in unison, a beautiful sound to the two lovers as they reflected on the blessing of their chosen family, all gathered here in the woods to watch them promise their love to one another for the remainder of their lives.

“Is there anyone here today who knows of a reason that these two may not join in holy matrimony?”

“You mean aside from the fact that they’re both wanted fugitives?” asked Varric, and they all laughed.

“Other than that,” said Aveline. There was only silence in reply. She  was beaming now.

“This is my favorite part,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “Then by the power invested in me--by default, since nobody else in Kirkwall can do it--I now pronounce you husband and wife. Fenris, I believe you know what to--”

But the elf had already grabbed Caitlin, pulling her to him and kissing her deeply, heart hammering against his chest so hard he thought the whole lot of them must be able to hear it. Caitlin wrapped her arms around his neck and felt the tear finally trickling down her cheek as their friends all cheered.

  
It was done.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you, you knew the hands of the devil  
> And you kept us awake with wolf teeth  
> Sharing different heartbeats  
> In one night
> 
> -The Knife, "Heartbeats"

Orana was better than her word when it came to the feast that followed at the estate. The long wooden table in the dining hall groaned under the weight of the dishes the little elf had prepared: half a dozen roasted pheasants, heavily herbed and perfectly crisp-skinned; bowls of roasted potatoes and a delicious brown gravy that tasted of mushrooms and sage; three tureens of soup, each a different flavor and all piping hot; plates of cheese and fruit, from simple grapes and apples to exotic things many of them had never even seen before; freshly baked, thick-crusted loaves of hearty bread with mountains of fresh butter; a bowl of salad greens with honeyed vinegar dressing; and nine different varieties of wine, including the bubbly Orlesian stuff again, which Fenris delighted in opening for them all (Bethany had to duck to avoid the ricocheting cork this time) but steered well clear of drinking. 

In spite of her protests about “imposing” on their party, Fenris and Caitlin had insisted Orana sit with them in celebration and help herself to the meal she had worked so hard for the past day and a half to prepare. They had never seen her so pleased as compliments on her cooking flew from every direction at the table. It was delicious, and coupled with the company, the newlyweds couldn’t think of a better way to spend their last supper in Kirkwall.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, Varric insisted on a round of Diamondback. Orana excused herself to head back home, accepting everyone’s thanks for the fine meal and a loving kiss on the cheek from Caitlin before departing. Merill, Bethany, and Aveline declined to play and were spectators instead, delighting at and joining in with everyone’s banter, and Isabela brought out a bottle of fine Antivan brandy she’d been saving for a special occasion. One round of cards turned into many. They had all enjoyed shouting playfully at one another over the game, getting pleasantly tipsy, and reliving their adventures--with considerable embellishments--over the past several years. Rafael, who had been spoiled with table scraps throughout the meal, had fallen asleep in a heap in a corner of the room, limbs twitching intermittently as he chased invisible prey.

At one point, as midnight loomed, Isabela caught Fenris giving Hawke a bedroom-eyed sort of look over his cards. The hand finished with Donnic victorious, and she yawned theatrically.

“Maker preserve us, look at the hour!” she exclaimed, pushing back her chair. “It’s about time I went home. We’ll have lots to pack onto the ship before we shove off tomorrow.”

Varric frowned.

“We’re jus’ gettin’ started,” he slurred, shuffling the deck again. “Besides, I’m not even tired.”

Aveline caught Isabela’s eye and cleared her throat noisily. 

“I rather think Isabela is correct, Varric,” she said, giving the dwarf a meaningful look. “We should really let these two get to  _ bed _ so they can get lots of  _ rest _ before tomorrow. They have a long journey ahead.”

Varric blinked at her obtusely.

“It’s their wedding night, Av’line. How mush sleeping d’you honeshly think they’ll-- ohhhh.”

Comprehension dawned on the drunken dwarf’s face. Caitlin flushed a bit as she caught Fen’s eye. He was looking incredibly grateful for Isabela’s intervention, eying her the way her Mabari would look at a steak.

The gang slowly filed out, promising to see them off the following morning for one last goodbye. Varric tipped Fenris what he obviously thought was a covert wink on his way through the door. The elf shook his head, chucking, as he closed it behind them.

“Thank the Maker,” Caitlin said, heaving a relieved sigh. “If I don’t get this corset off I think I may implode.”

Fenris looked at his bride, standing at the foot of the stairs, and smiled a devilish sort of grin. Caitlin rolled her eyes affectionately at him and turned to ascend to her bedroom-- _ their _ bedroom, she now supposed, at least for one more night--and he followed, hot on her heels.

She had hardly made it to the top of the stairs when he scooped her up from behind, lifting her off her feet and twirling her as he cradled her in his arms.

“I believe it is tradition for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold.”

“Of the  _ house _ ,” she said with a laugh. “Not the  _ bedroom _ .”

Fenris frowned.

“Oh. Well, I suppose I messed that part up, then.”

“No,” said Caitlin, tenderly stroking his arm. “I loved walking into this house with my hand in yours.”

“What about the tradition where the groom carries his bride to the bed, flings her onto it, and makes wildly-passionate-yet-gentle love to her in the moonlight?”

“Yep, still time for that,” said Caitlin, nodding approvingly, her face breaking into a huge grin. He ducked his head and mimed biting at her neck with a growl, and she giggled as he strode into the bedroom. 

A fire lay waiting for them, roaring and hot. Orana had planned ahead, Maker bless her.

Rather than throwing Caitlin onto the bed, Fenris set her down gently in the middle of the floor and motioned for her to turn around so her back was to him. He reached down into her dress and deftly unlaced her tight corset stays, watching her body relax as it loosened. He wriggled the garment up from beneath her dress, pulling it out from the bodice. He didn’t want her to take the gown off just yet.

He brushed her hair off her neck and kneaded her shoulders with his warm hands, feeling her tension melt under his touch. She let out a low moan as his fingers worked, releasing tight knots and bands in her muscles. The noise made him want to ravish her, but tonight he was determined that they take their time.

He dropped one hand to hers and pulled her around to face him. In the flicker of the firelight, he saw that her dress was ever so slightly sheer, so that he could only just make out the outlines of her nipples against the white linen. He thumbed one of them. It hardened like a little marble under his touch. 

He pulled her to him at the waist, closing the gap between them so that their bodies pressed together. Caitlin could feel the tip of his cock, hard as iron already, pressed against her belly. His lips enveloped hers and his tongue slid between them, rolling against hers as his hand slipped down her spine to grab a handful of flesh at her backside. She trailed a finger along his jaw, tracing it lightly outside the perimeter of his markings and around the edge of his ear.

Fenris tucked his other hand into her hair, grabbing a handful of it and gripping it hard. The tension on her scalp sent a thrill down her body, ending in a pang at her loins. She pressed her middle against him more firmly, and he moaned into her mouth, the low tones vibrating against her lips.

Bending at the knees, he grabbed her thighs beneath her skirt, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his lean torso and he carried her several steps to the bed. He leaned over, letting her rest gently against the mattress, then straightened to lift his shirt off over his head in one swift upward motion of his arms. Caitlin let her eyes wander over his body, silhouetted against the firelight, markings beginning to glow with that blue-white luminescence that made the contours of his muscles stand out against their light. She could see the outline of his erection against his pants, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He was feasting on her with his eyes, as well, drinking in the way the fabric of her dress pooled to one side of her shapely legs, revealing their pale flesh and a hint of lace at the edge of her smallclothes. He undid the ties of his leggings and dropped them to the floor, then climbed onto the bed, leaning over her.

His hands slipped under her dress and he slid a finger under each side of the waistband of her smallclothes, pulling them down her legs and over her ankles, discarding them onto the floor.

Caitlin leaned her head back into the pillow as Fenris glided his hands up her thighs, pushing the layers of white fabric up to her waist and exposing everything below her belly. Blazing a trail of kisses along her collarbone, he grasped one of her knees, pushing against it to open her legs. She submitted, parting her thighs. She felt his hands roam along their flesh, fingertips lightly circling over her skin, making their way slowly up to the junction where they met.

Fenris leaned back, locking his eyes on hers as he slipped a finger gently between the velvet-soft folds of her skin, brushing teasingly against her clit. Caitlin’s breath caught in her throat, and he smiled his crooked, impish grin again. His eyes dropped to watch his slender fingers sliding along the wet-hot flesh of her sex. He’d never gotten to see much of anything of this part of her body, and Maker, it was perfect.

He wanted to taste her, to please her until she was hoarse and breathless, but he resisted the urge to devour her just yet, choosing instead to let his fingers gently spread her apart and slip inside her, eliciting a long, throaty moan. She was drenched. Moving his fingers in and out of her, his eyes moved from her groin to her face and back again, thrilling at the way his touch was causing her breasts to heave as her breath quickened. His thumb began to rub at her as he pushed his fingers deeper inside her, his whole hand wet and shining now. She arched her back sharply, hips thrusting up against his touch.

Fenris found he couldn’t hold back any longer. Sliding backward on the bed, he forced her thighs wider apart and spread her open with his fingers. Caitlin’s eyes were shut tight with pleasure, and she felt his warm tongue touch her, trailing its way up to flick against her swollen clit. She let out a sharp yelp, and she felt him smile against her before pulling it entirely between his lips and sucking at her, still working his fingers in and out with one hand as her leg began to tremble beneath the other. She reached down, lacing her fingers into his hair, and pushed against his head, bucking her hips into him as he drove his fingers deeper into her.

Her taste in his mouth was an aphrodisiac like no other, and Fenris found that his cock was throbbing hard now, aching to plunge into her. He began fingering her faster, his tongue flicking intermittently between his lips against her hard little pearl.

Caitlin felt a tightening in her belly as her bottom lip began to tingle, and for a moment she thought she might faint. But then she curled forward involuntarily, her hips giving a tremendous grind against Fenris as his tongue stroked her hungrily, and she felt every muscle in her body clench. She tipped her head back, her free hand gripping the sheet as she took one last big breath.

“Oh, Fen,” she whispered shakily, and then her orgasm hit, lighting up every nerve in her body, exploding deep inside her body and radiating outward, pleasure washing over her as she bucked and twisted against Fenris. He could feel her muscles tightening around his fingers and her clit jerking against his tongue as she came, her voice crying out as her warm wetness gushed over his hand. Stars exploded behind her closed eyelids, and she felt like she was in freefall as he carried her through the waves of pleasure. It wasn’t until she gasped for air half a minute later that she realized she’d been holding her breath through most of it. She panted hard, legs shaking uncontrollably, watching as he leaned back.

Fenris’s hand, still covered in her nectar, wrapped itself around his own cock and stroked up and down a few times as he looked her in the eye.

“If I don’t fuck you now...” he said, leaving the end of the sentence up to her imagination as he leaned down to kiss her. She tasted herself, sweet and salty on his lips, then pushed him backward as she pulled her dress over her shoulders and threw it aside.

Fenris took a brief second to admire her bosom, nipples standing out so stiffly that the firelight cast a stark black shadow of them against her pale breasts. Then he dropped his hand from around his erection and leaned forward over her again, maneuvering his hips between her knees. He took one of her nipples between his lips, the flesh of her breast cupped in his hand, and propped himself over her on his other forearm.

Opening her hips wide again, Caitlin reached down between them and gently took hold of Fenris’s length. She guided the tip of it between her folds to the right spot, and he pushed gently into her. There was a twinge of discomfort as his girth filled her. It had been a long time, and he was not unimpressive when it came to size. He rested there for a moment, allowing her to get used to the feeling.

The feeling of her slick walls against him was delicious. He was desperate to bury himself in her further, but he’d felt her flinch slightly as he’d entered her. He drew back from her, looking her in the eye.

“Is this painful?” he asked her, a look of concern on his face. She shook her head.

“I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Been a long time,” he finished for her, pressing his forehead against hers. “Tell me about it. I’ve thought about this every night for three years.”

She could feel him throbbing inside of her, his body insistent. Kissing him softly, she placed a hand on the small of his back and pressed it against him. Letting her lips linger against his, she took a shuddering breath, and Fenris felt the warm air of her exhalation tingle against his mouth.

“Fuck me, Fenris,” she breathed.

He needed no further encouragement. Drawing himself almost all the way out of her, he hovered there for a brief second with just the tip of himself inside her, then plunged his cock all the way in. She let out another cry as he filled her up, pushing deep until he was all the way up against the opening of her womb.

Beads of sweat dripped down Fenris’s temples as he pistoned into her again, his markings beginning to crackle with electric energy. He felt her insides grip him tighter as he rammed his hips against hers. He sat up and pulled her thighs up, and she crossed her ankles behind his ass, using her muscular legs to increase the force with which he was pushing into her. He looked down, watching his cock slide in and out of her, glistening with her juices. His thumb found his way to her crest again, and he began to rub her furiously as he bucked into her.

“Caitlin,” he rasped, “Come again for me. I want to feel you come from the inside.”

She nodded, panted the word “yes,” her head tilted back again, fingers working her own nipples as she felt the familiar tingle stirring inside her gut again. Everything ached with the throbs that were wracking her body as he built her up to another climax.

“That’s it,” he said softly, watching her begin to writhe again and feeling the edge of his own orgasm approaching. His thumb vibrated quicker around and around her clit, and he began to feel her walls milking him as they squeezed vice-like against his shaft. “Fuck, Cait. Oh fuck. Oh, FUCK!”

They both came at the same time, and he tossed back his head and roared her name into the night as his cock spurted inside her, spasming hard with each thundering thrust. She clawed at his thighs, her whole body contracting and releasing rhythmically, shattering her with pleasure. His markings were practically sparking now, giving off tiny, thrilling electric shocks wherever they brushed against Caitlin’s skin, and she found that it heightened the sensation as she came.

Fenris could feel the jerking of his erection beginning to slow as the last of his seed spilled into her, and he buried himself deep into her again, every inch of him lost in her heat. He never wanted it to stop, wanted the waves to keep crashing into him over and over for eternity. He leaned into her again, touching the tip of his nose to hers and bringing her into a breathless kiss as the ebbing tide of their climaxes slowed together. Sweat rolled down the front of his neck, pooling between her breasts as the rise and fall of her chest became more measured. He gave one last small push into her, then collapsed against her and laid his head on her shoulder, allowing her to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. He felt her fingers gently winding through his sweat-soaked hair, and he purred against her. Drawing back onto his shaking forearms, he met her gaze and stroked her flushed cheek with the back of his forefinger. She was grinning at him, looking satisfied.

  
“I’ll be damned,” she breathed. “You  _ finally _ called me Cait.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang says goodbye.

The morning dawned cool and bright in Kirkwall, the promise of autumn crisp in the air. Caitlin woke before Fenris, wishing they could sleep late and enjoy one more day together in the city, strolling the markets as they often did, or taking a picnic lunch to one of the wooded areas outside and practicing Fenris’s reading. As she lay there with his body curled around hers, she thought back to all the little moments they had shared together here at the estate.

It was where they’d shared their first kiss, and where they’d made love for the first time, and where she’d soaked her pillow in tears after he’d left that same night. She’d lain awake so many nights thinking about him, wanting to go to him and make him see sense, but understanding that it had to be his call.

On the day Caitlin’s mother had died, this very bed was where they had sat together for hours, mostly in silence, him comforting her just by being present. That was the night she had known beyond all doubt that Fenris was truly hers still, though he hadn’t yet asked to come back to her.

The estate had been their triage center after battles, where Anders would set up camp and patch them all up, and Orana would bustle around insisting that everyone needed soup and hot herbal tea. Thinking about Anders brought an especially sharp sting today. Oh, how she wished he had chosen a different path, that he had been there to celebrate last night and that she’d get to see him one more time before leaving… No matter how far removed they got from the events of the past week, she would never quite be able to reconcile her feelings about his death.

But there had been plenty of happy days spent here, as well. This was where she had invited their whole little gang over for dinners and drinks and spontaneous games of Diamondback or Wicked Grace, Isabela constantly cheating and Fenris failing spectacularly at bluffing, all of them laughing and shouting and talking late into the night.

Aveline and Donnic had been married here, and now this was where she and Fenris had celebrated their own wedding with their dear friends, where they had had spent their first night as husband and wife. It had been _their_ home together, even if only for a couple of days.

Fenris stirred behind her, stretching his long limbs with a muffled groan, and Caitlin hastily wiped her cheeks. She felt the pointed tip of his nose nuzzle into the back of her neck as soft lips touched her skin.

“Morning,” he murmured.

She rolled over to smile at him, but he saw the slight red tinge to her eyes, and frowned.

“What is it?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Oh, just being maudlin,” she replied, an attempt at sounding nonchalant. “Reminiscing about bygone days and wishing we could just spend one more afternoon together in Kirkwall.”

“I know the feeling,” he said gently, brushing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “When I arrived here, I didn’t expect to stay long. I certainly didn’t expect to grow fond of it, or to ever consider it home. But I expect it isn’t so much the city I’ll miss as it is the moments we had here, and the people we shared them with. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being with you, it’s that home is a _feeling_ , not a place. We’ll leave Kirkwall behind today, and before long ‘home’ will mean something different to us all. But for me, it’ll always be simple: my home is wherever _you_ are.”

He kissed her forehead, then wrapped her in his arms again. She held on for several long minutes, grateful for the comfort of his warmth and his words.

Then the pair of them rose, dressing quietly, and finished packing their necessities as the morning sun rose higher, spilling over the windowsills and bathing the house in golden light. Caitlin waffled over whether to pack her gown, finding it silly that she even wanted to take such a thing on the run, but somehow unable to leave it behind. Fenris reasoned that there may come a time when they’d be grateful that she had it if they ever needed to go undercover, which Caitlin suspected may have just been his way of trying to find a way to justify indulging her. Either way, it was convincing enough, and into her pack it went.

Rafe paced the floors of the estate, following them from room to room. He was smart enough to know that something big was happening, but not so smart that he could understand precisely what.

Orana arrived early that morning, preparing a simple breakfast of toast, eggs, and bacon, and insisting that they take packed lunches for the journey, as well. She had disappeared into the kitchen to prepare them while Fenris and Caitlin finished outfitting themselves and the hound for the journey. Rafe wasn’t used to carrying packs and gave Caitlin an annoyed sort of grumble at having them buckled around his waist. She hushed him and stood as a loud sniffle issued from the doorway.

She looked up to see her elven cook, standing there with a large sack, unable to hold back her tears at seeing her Mistress really, _truly_ preparing to leave her. Maybe forever.

Caitlin and Fenris rushed to her side, him relieving her of the bag and tenderly putting a hand on her shoulder, Caitlin pulling her into a hug.

“Oh, Orana, please don’t cry,” she whispered, a lump forming in her own throat.

“Mis--Mistress, you have been so kind to me,” she sobbed, drying her eyes on her apron. “You took me in when I had nowhere to go. You treated me like a person, for the first time in my whole life. I’m not sure what I will do once you leave.”

“You’ll have Varric here to keep you company, and the rest of the gang will come by to see you,” said Caitlin, looking her in the eye. “You can even stay here at the estate, if you like.”

The elf’s eyes widened.

“Here? In _your_ house?”

“You can have the guest room,” Caitlin replied. “You just have to promise me one thing.”

“Of course,” Orana said enthusiastically. “I am happy to do whatever you ask of me, Mistress!”

“Try to make sure Varric eats something green occasionally, okay?”

Orana tearfully laughed at that, and their departure became much less sorrowful as they said their goodbyes. After long hugs all around and a few sloppy kisses from Rafe, the elf stood in the doorway at the front of the estate and watched them walk away, waving back at her as they crossed the cobblestone courtyard of Hightown, heading toward the docks.

  


*  *  *  *  *

 

The gentle creaking of ships anchored in the harbor and the cry of dozens of seagulls patrolling the skies over the pier greeted them as they approached Isabela. She was directing people onboard the ship, carrying barrels, trunks, and crates full of supplies for their journey. Turning to face them, she shielded her eyes with one hand against the bright morning sunlight.

“About time you showed up, sleepyheads!” she called, her other hand on her hip. “Luckily there’s still plenty to do. I know you’re relieved that you didn’t miss all the packing!”

Caitlin and Fenris stowed their things onboard the ship and left Rafael to explore the vessel as they surveyed the supplies still left to load. Fenris bent down and grabbed the rope handles of a large trunk.

“Are you sure you can manage that one all by yourself, Fenris?” Isabela asked. “It’s rather weighty.”

“Have you _seen_ the size of my sword?” he asked.

Caitlin snorted at the innuendo and nearly dropped the large sacks of flour she had just lifted. Fenris heaved the trunk upward with ease and carried it onto the ship. Caitlin followed with her load, and the two returned again shortly to the pier to take more supplies onboard. A familiar face was waiting for them, grinning at them next to a large barrel, and they stopped short.

“Well, if it isn’t the Champion of Kirkwall and the second most attractive elf in all of Thedas!” said Zevran Arainai in his thick Antivan accent, his face split in a smile that showed every last one of his perfect teeth

“Zevran!” exclaimed Caitlin, grinning back. “We didn’t expect to see you here. What brings you to the docks today? I figured you left after the battle.”

“I’m leaving today,” he said, gesturing toward the boat. “We are shipmates!”

She felt Fenris tense beside her and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Isabela didn’t mention--” he began, looking from Zevran to the boat and back again.

“Must have slipped my mind!” Isabela said, coming up next to Zevran and attempting to look innocent. Caitlin suddenly remembered her mentioning that she had a “friend” coming over the night she cut her hair, and she caught Isabela’s eye. She winked at Caitlin. “I trust everyone can play nicely together long enough for us to get to Antiva?”

Fenris gave the pirate a look.

“Provided everyone remembers whose cabin they belong in, we should be fine,” he said tersely. Caitlin hid a smile. He had never quite forgiven Zevran for flirting with her a handful of times, despite the fact that she had tried to explain to Fenris that Zevran would flirt with a horse if it stood still long enough. He and Isabela had that in common, and Caitlin had a feeling she knew whose cabin _he_ would be staying in during their trip.

“Why’s everyone standing about flapping their jaws?” asked an unfamiliar voice. “Sooner we get on the water, the sooner we can open the rum!”

Caitlin turned around to see a short man with red hair approaching from the direction of the boat. He was mopping sweat from his brow, the end of his broad freckled nose crinkling as he squinted against the sun. Right behind him was a giant of a man with deep brown skin, bald head shining with perspiration and three gold earrings glittering in his right ear.

Isabela looked glad of an excuse to change the subject.

“Ah, yes! Introductions are in order,” she said, gesturing for the men to come over to their little group. “Gentlemen, may I present the Champion of Kirkwall, Serah Caitlin Hawke, and her husband, Fenris of Seheron.”

Caitlin and Fenris both inclined their heads.

“They’ll be sailing with us as far as Antiva. Hawke and Fenris, meet Channing Frye, steward and cook.”  
  
The short red-haired man bowed and said, “Pleasure, messeres.”

“And his rather large companion is Domenic Dakaar, my first mate.”

He extended a huge hand to Fenris, who took it. It nearly swallowed his slender fingers, but Fenris gripped it solidly, meeting the man’s firm hold.

“Pleased to finally make your acquaintance,” he said, looking between the elf and Caitlin. “Captain Isabela speaks highly of you both.”

“Dakaar has graciously offered to give you his sleeping quarters for the journey, as the bunks and hammocks are too small for two people to sleep in,” Isabela explained.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Caitlin protested, but the first mate held up a hand and shook his head.

“I won’t hear of you sleeping with the crew,” he said. “In a world like this, a man deserves the simple pleasure of sleeping beside his wife.”

“That is most kind of you,” Fenris said appreciatively.

“You’ll meet the rest of the crew in time,” said Isabela, looking down the pier. “For right now, it looks as though you’re about to be monopolized for awhile.”

Caitlin followed her gaze and saw a small contingent of people headed their direction. Aveline, Donnic, Merrill, and Bethany trailed behind Varric, their feet beating loudly against the weathered wood of the dock.

“We’ll finish up while you say your goodbyes,” Isabela told Caitlin, giving her wrist a small squeeze. “Take your time.”

Varric was grinning at her, his giant crossbow slung over his back and a small sack in his hands.

“Morning, you two.” he said. “Sleep well? Sleep at _all_?” He shot Fenris a devilish look.

“We slept _fine_ , thank you,” Caitlin said, rolling her eyes. “I’m surprised you’re upright already after all the wine you put away last night.”   
  
“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s holding my drink. Plus, the Hanged Man’s cook makes a great hangover breakfast. He gets lots of practice.”

The crew had resumed packing, shuffling back and forth from ship to pier to load the last few things.

“Looks like you’re almost ready to shove off,” said Aveline, watching Isabela and the men work. “Hold on, is that Zevran? Don’t tell me he’s going on the same boat as you?”

She eyed Fenris, who grumbled an affirmative. Donnic chortled.

“Thank goodness _we’re_ not getting on that ship,” he said.

Varric laughed aloud, shaking his head.

“And a good thing Caitlin knows which bed her boots belong under, eh?” he asked.

“Quite,” said Fenris, still looking annoyed.

“Here, maybe this will help,” the dwarf said, handing the sack to Fenris. He peered inside. “It’s your own deck of cards, and some of those little hard fruit-flavored sweets you like so much, you know, from that Lowtown merchant? Donnic and I thought you’d like something to remind you of home. Be stuck on that big canoe for a long time.”

Fenris swallowed hard and looked up at Varric, at a loss for words.

“Ah, don’t go getting all misty-eyed, Broody.”

“Thank you,” said Fenris, looking from the dwarf to Donnic. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for being… for being my _friends_.”

Donnic held out his hand and said, “We’ll miss you. Both of you.”

Fenris shook it, and Donnic pulled him into a hug, slapping him on the back a few times as Aveline approached Caitlin.

“Hawke. It’s been a pleasure to walk beside you all these years,” she said, embracing her. “Wesley would have been so grateful that you’ve been watching out for me all this time.”  
  
“We watched out for _each other_ , Aveline,” replied Caitlin, feeling a stinging sensation behind her eyes that meant tears were imminent. “You are my oldest friend here. I won’t ever forget everything you’ve done for me. Take care of yourselves. And of the others.”

Merrill stepped forward toward Caitlin, a sad smile on her face.

“Have a blessed journey, _lethallan_ ,” she told her, hugging her tightly. “I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but you kept me from feeling alone when I first came to Kirkwall. You showed me that being a friend sometimes means telling someone things they don’t want to hear and I think… I think you saved me... from _myself_.”

As they pulled away, Caitlin took something from a sheath on her belt and extended it to Merrill.

“The _Arulin’Holm_ !” the elf exclaimed breathlessly, reaching out a hand to grasp it. “I thought you’d… I don’t know, sold it or something. _Ages_ ago.”

“I never wanted to steal it, Merrill,” she said gently, “I only wanted to keep you from hurting yourself. This belongs with your clan now.”

Merrill hugged her again, tearfully thanking her. She turned the tool over and over in her hands, an expression of disbelief on her face.

“Keep it away from any strange, mystic mirrors you might stumble across,” advised Fenris. Merrill looked up.

“Of course,” she said. “Learned my lesson about those already.”

She held out her hand to Fenris, who looked surprised. He took it anyway and shook it gingerly.

“Be well, Fenris,” Merrill told him. “ _Dareth shiral_.”

“That was… unexpected,” said Varric, eyebrows raised. Caitlin turned to him, grinning slightly.

“Varric,” she said quietly, trying to articulate all the things she wanted to say to the dwarf in the short time they had left together. Realizing she couldn’t, she knelt down and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, eyes now burning with the effort of holding back her tears. “I’m going to miss you so.”

He returned the embrace, his scratchy stubble brushing her cheek as they broke apart a moment later.

“Hawke...” His eyes looked suspiciously shiny. “The stories I’m going to write about you,” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “But they still won’t do you justice. Come back in one piece, okay? Kirkwall won’t be the same until you two are here again.”

“We’ll try,” she told him, her hands on his shoulders. “But just in case… in case we _don’t_ , know that I have never met a truer friend than you, Varric.”   
  
At this, the dwarf blinked several times.

“You’re the closest thing to family I got now, Hawke. None of that ‘in case we don’t’ shit.”

Caitlin nodded, trying to smile.

“Okay, okay.”

She stood and turned, finally, to Bethany. Her sister was standing there, arms wrapped around herself, tears streaming down her face. Caitlin found she could no longer contain her own, and they began to trickle over her cheeks, leaving long, wet trails down to her jaw. She stepped forward and enveloped her in a tight hug.

“Bethany,” she whispered. “My baby sister.”

Bethany’s sobs broke the silence on the dock, and the others looked away, some out of respect for the two women, and some to hide their own red eyes.

“Mother would be so proud of you,” Caitlin told her. “The way you fought with the other mages, the way you’ve learned to master your magic. You were magnificent.”

Bethany unfolded her arms and embraced Caitlin.

“You’re all I have left,” she said, her voice full of emotion. “Mother and Father, and Carver… and now you’re leaving me, too. I never thought we’d end up here, Cait.”

“Nor me. I wish I could stay.”

“But you can’t,” Bethany said firmly. “I know you can’t. It’s not safe. And my place is here, to keep fighting with my brothers and sisters in the Circle. We mages have to stick together now. Still, I wish… I wish things were different.”

“So do I,” Caitlin replied thickly. “You be strong, okay? And remember how much I love you, and how proud I am of you.”

“You’ll write?” Bethany asked, pulling away, her swollen eyes pleading. “I need you to promise.”

“I’ll send a letter every time we’re in a city,” Caitlin assured her, squeezing her hands. “I’ll start when we reach Antiva City.”

Bethany hugged her tight again, and Caitlin kissed her forehead.

“And you,” Bethany said, turning to Fenris now. “You keep my sister safe, Fen. _Swear_ to me.”

“As long as there is breath in my lungs," he told her earnestly, "I will fight with everything I have to keep Caitlin from harm. I promise you.”

Bethany nodded. “Good. Now come get your hug.”

Fenris embraced her.

“I lost a sister, and you lost a brother,” he told her. “But we each gained one back yesterday. For that I’m grateful.”

Bethany sniffled loudly, flapping her hands at Fenris.

“Oh, quit it!” she said. “I just stopped bawling and now you’re going to get me started all over again.”

“Looks like the Captain is ready to ship out,” Varric said, gesturing to where Isabella was approaching from behind Fenris and Caitlin.

“Has everyone had enough time?” she asked, looking at the bittersweet expressions on everyone’s faces. “I don’t want to rush you, but the men are ready whenever you are.”  
  
“Let’s go,” said Caitlin, taking a deep breath. “Otherwise I’m likely to change my mind.”

They all said one last farewell to one another, and then Fenris and Caitlin turned to walk across the gangplank onto Isabela’s ship. Caitlin turned back one last time to look at their faces, studying them, memorizing them all.

  
She hoped she would see them again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has a flashback.
> 
> [TW: Rape/Abuse]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep  
> Wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks  
> Then it walks, then it walks with my legs  
> To fall, to fall, to fall at your feet."
> 
> \- Florence + The Machine, "I'm Not Calling You A Liar"

_Fenris couldn’t breathe._

_Danarius had a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, his fingers squeezing like a vice into his flesh and leaving a purple shadow there that would last for days. Fenris could feel himself struggling not to gag as Danarius forced his length down his throat. His eyes watered with the effort of holding down his bile as the magister groaned, thrusting against him. Fenris steeled himself for the forthcoming explosion of the man’s vile, salty seed. But it didn’t happen. Instead, Danarius withdrew, releasing his neck from his grip. Fenris’s markings were on fire, searing as though hot irons were being pressed to his skin. Danarius stared at him with a mixture of hunger and malice._

_“Turn around, little wolf.”_

_Fenris seemed to have no control over his body. He felt panicked. He wanted to run, to get away from Danarius, but he couldn’t make his legs move toward the door. Instead, like a marionette being manipulated by some unseen force, he slowly turned his back toward the magister, placing his hands on the desk in front of him and bending forward. He felt the older man’s hands yank at his leggings, which fell to the floor over his ankles. And then there was only pain, and he felt as though he was being ripped apart, his markings alive with agony..._

 

  
  
Fenris’s terrified screaming cut through the silence in the first mate’s cabin. Caitlin woke from a dead sleep, sitting bolt upright as the sound reverberated off the polished wooden panels of the walls and ceiling. The elf had his arms over his face, shielding himself from an invisible foe, his markings glowing bright enough to cast their blue-white light dimly throughout the room.

“Fenris!” she cried, reaching to grasp his shoulder and shake him awake. “Fen, you’re having a nightm--”

Fenris swung his fist in a sharp hook as he came to, sitting upright, and he felt his knuckles connect with something hard, followed by a cry of pain. He looked around, confused, and saw Caitlin bent forward, clutching her cheek.

The door of the cabin burst open with a bang, and Isabela and Zevran were silhouetted in the light from the hallway, both in their smalls, daggers drawn.

“What’s going on?” Isabela asked, looking around the cabin as though she’d expected to find a horde of genlocks.

“We heard screaming,” Zevran said. “And it didn’t sound like the fun kind.”

Fenris ignored them, his attention focused on Caitlin. She was still hunched over, her eyes streaming from the blow he’d landed on her face.

“Caitlin,” he said, trying to shake the dream and feeling like he was going to be sick. “Maker, I’m so sorry. Let me look.”  
  
“Did he _hit_ you?” asked Isabela, her tone changing from one of fear to anger and disbelief.

“He didn’t mean to,” Caitlin’s muffled voice said from behind her hand. “He was having a dream. A bad one. He came up swinging.”

Isabela walked to the bedside table, still looking frightened but somewhat relieved, and lit the oil lamp that stood there. Fenris took it from her hand and held it up to Caitlin’s face.

“It’s a good thing you don’t wear your gauntlets to bed,” said Isabela, eyeing the angry red mark blooming up her cheek. “It may not bruise too badly if we get something cold on it. Though I’m not sure what that would be.”

Caitlin motioned to the wardrobe.

“Bag,” she said, wincing as she moved her jaw.

Zevran quickly brought Caitlin the satchel she had carried the night she treated Fenris’s wounds, and she rummaged through it until she came up with two tiny glass bottles, one a bit larger than the other.

“Mix these,” she instructed, handing them to Isabela. “Then pour them onto some bandage cloth.”

Isabela did as she had been instructed, pouring the contents of the small bottle into the larger one and swirling it around. The glass instantly became cold to the touch. She emptied the contents onto the bandaging, which she then handed to Caitlin.

Pressing the frosty cloth against her jaw, Caitlin looked up at Fenris. His eyes were fixed on her, concern etched upon his features. She made to reach for his hand, but he drew it away quickly. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned back to Isabela.

“We’re fine now, I think,” she said quietly. “Thank you both for your help. I can take it from here.”

Isabela’s expression was hesitant, but she gave a curt nod to Zevran, and the two of them made to leave the room. Glancing over her shoulder, the pirate gave Fenris a worried look, then closed the door behind her.

“Fen,” Caitlin said gently, after they heard the dull sound of the cabin door across the hall shutting.

“I hit you.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“I _hit_ you, Caitlin.”   
  
There was anger in his voice, and shame. She wanted to reach out to him again, but she’d seen the way he looked when he’d pulled away moments before. It was hard for her not to feel just a little bit hurt when he rejected her touch like this, but she knew that sometimes it was just too much. His markings were still glowing brightly in the aftermath of his dream.

He was looking down now, studying his fist as though it didn’t belong to the rest of his body.

“Fenris,” she said, trying to get him to look up at her again. She needed to look at his eyes, to get a read on him. This was unchartered territory and she had no idea how to proceed. “I’m okay, really. But you’re _not_. What happened? Was it a nightmare?”

“No. It was... a _memory_ ,” he said, his throat feeling dry. “Of… of Danarius.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Caitlin tried to hide her trepidation as she asked, once again not really sure she wanted to hear about this particular aspect of his past.

“He was… forcing me to do things. Things I didn’t like. Things that hurt.”

Another sliver of recollection came then, of crouching in a large tub later that day and watching the red blooms of blood tinge the cold water pink as he tried to soothe the pain. He hadn’t been able to sit for several days after that. It had been the first time, but not nearly the last.

Caitlin was quiet, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Can I do anything?”

Fenris just shook his head--in answer to which question, she wasn’t certain.

The elf lay back down, eyes staring at the ceiling now. Caitlin put her cold cloth on her bedside table and edged a bit nearer to her husband, careful not to touch him but needing to be close, as much for herself as it was for him.

“I’m here, Fen,” she whispered, watching him draw slow, shaking breaths. He didn’t reply, but a few moments later, Caitlin felt him reach over and place his hand over hers.

  
It was enough.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris feels the aftershock of his memory, and Caitlin makes a new friend.

When Caitlin opened her eyes several hours later, Fenris was gone. She dressed in a hurry, still tying her leggings as she rushed out onto the deck of the ship. The sun was barely peeking out on the horizon, the sky still casting a purple-pink reflection on the waves. Rough boards creaked under her bare feet as she spotted him, leaning over the railing on the port side, retching.

“Oh no,” she said as she sidled up to him, placing a hand on his back. “Seasick?”

Fenris shook his head, sweat glistening on his forehead as he gulped a breath of air.

“I’ve been on ships plenty of times and I don’t remember ever being seasick before,” he said weakly.

“Do you think this has something to do with your memory?”

Fenris nodded, looking green, and then pitched forward against the railing once more. Caitlin looked away as he was sick again into the water below. She saw Dakaar walking toward them, a scuffed tin mug cupped in one of his large palms.

“I remember the first sea voyage I had, I was sick for _days_ ,” he said as he approached, a note of heavy sympathy in his voice. He handed the mug to Caitlin. “Frye made some tea to help.”

The hot liquid smelled heavily of ginger. Fenris was standing with his head resting in his folded arms now, shoulders heaving with each heavy breath.

“I’m _not_ seasick,” he said, his muffled voice sounding defensive. Caitlin shot Dakaar an apologetic look

“I’m sure this will help soothe your stomach regardless of the reason, love,” she told Fenris gently, rubbing his back. “Let’s give you another minute to get it all out and then we can go get you back into bed. You should rest.”

Dakaar leaned over to Caitlin and whispered, “Better take a bilge bucket with you just in case.” He gestured to a small bucket several feet away, gave her a pat on the shoulder, and walked back toward the stairs to the galley where Caitlin guessed breakfast must be getting started.

Fenris went several minutes without being sick, and after some gentle prodding from Caitlin he allowed himself to be led back to their cabin, her holding onto his arm to steady him. He felt so weak, almost as drained as he was after the last battle in Kirkwall. His body didn’t hurt anymore, thank the Maker, but he felt completely sapped of energy. 

Caitlin helped him out of his shirt and into bed, and she gave him the mug of warm tea. He sipped it tentatively, and he was surprised to find that it was quite nice--a bit spicy from the ginger, and it also had an almost cooling sensation as it went down his throat.

Fenris watched his wife take the bandage cloth she had used as a cold pack the previous night and dunk it in their wash basin. After wringing it out, she brought it over and applied it to the back of his neck. The cold, damp fabric felt wonderful against his skin. He looked up at her and saw that the red mark from blow he’d landed on her chin was only barely visible. With any luck, nobody would notice it.

Caitlin brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead and planted a kiss there. He was radiating so much heat that she could feel it on her lips inches before they met skin.

“There’s a bucket here by the floor,” she said. “Just in case.”

Fenris nodded and watched her cross the room to the porthole. As she opened it, he felt the cool breeze from the ocean play across his brow. He settled back against his pillow, closing his eyes.

“I wish I knew why I feel so terrible when this happens. This is how I felt after the first night we were together. I spent the whole day bent over some ugly old urn in my mansion. Had to throw the thing out the next day. I think that actually improved the decor, to be honest.”

Caitlin pursed her lips, thoughtful. She came back over to the bed and sat next to Fenris, taking his hand in hers.

“I think,” she said slowly, trying to find the right word, “you’re… _purging_ yourself. Your mind dug up a painful memory it had kept buried for a very long time. Now your whole body is cleansing itself of it. You’re throwing up, you’re feverish, you’re feeling weak. All these things suggest that you’re trying to get rid of something bad for you. I think it’s this memory.”

“But I won’t forget what happened to me just because I vomit a few times,” Fenris said, furrowing his brow.

“No,” Caitlin said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if the lyrium and the magic that were used against you have almost made all these feelings and emotions part of your physical being. That’s why you light up when you’re feeling angry or… you know, _stimulated_. Your feelings manifest themselves physically and affect your whole self. So when the really awful ones get dredged up, your body has to respond. And it treats it like a sickness.”

Fenris groaned.

“If this happens every time I remember something Danarius did to me, I’ll never be well enough to get off this boat.”

“If it happens every time we have _sex_ , that’s going to put a big damper on our love life,” Caitlin said, a sad smile on her face.

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Well, think about it,” she replied, shrugging, “We make love the first time, you have flashbacks of your life before you got your markings, you spend the next day throwing up. But you’ve had little pieces come back between then and now, and they haven’t made you sick like this. Then, we have our wedding night and the next day you have another major recollection, and now this. I think it’s possible that I’m triggering this.”

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.

“I can’t believe he’s taking _this_ away from me now, too,” he said. “I can’t even enjoy my marital bed.”

“Maybe the more it happens, the easier it will get.”

“So we should just make love _more_ often, is what you’re suggesting.”

“Well, I’d have said that regardless,” Caitlin answered with a smile. “Look, maybe there isn’t even a connection. It’s only happened twice. But we need to be aware that it’s a possible consequence. That’s all I’m saying.”

She kissed his hand and stood up.

“You need rest. I’m going to head down to get something to eat and figure out where our silly dog spent the night. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I’ll bring you back some food a bit later.”

Fenris nodded, looking up at her. He could see that underneath her nonchalant expression, she was concerned. He had a feeling she would be bringing up Tevinter later, but he was grateful that, for the moment, she realized that he needed sleep more than anything. He squeezed her hand.

“Thank you, Cait.”

She turned to leave, and Fenris finished his tea. Flipping his pillow over to the cool side as Caitlin closed the door behind her, he lay his head down, closed his eyes, and drifted off almost immediately to sleep.

*  *  *  *  *

 

By the time Caitlin got to the galley, it was packed with crewmembers hungry for their breakfast. Isabela was sitting at the head of one of the long tables, and she nudged Zevran when she noticed who had just walked in. 

“Frye, bring a plate for Caitlin over here, will you?” she called to the cook, who was looking harried as he began putting eggs and beans on toast onto a plate for her.

Caitlin took a seat on the other side of Isabela, next to Dakaar.

“How’s Fenris?” Isabela asked, putting down her fork. “Dakaar told me he was up on deck getting sick this morning.”  
  
“He’ll recover,” said Caitlin, trying to look unconcerned. Isabela wasn’t buying it, though. Caitlin could see that from her expression. Isabela lowered her voice.

“He woke half the ship up screaming last night, punched you in the face, and today he’s throwing his guts up into the sea, but ‘He’ll recover?’”

“What do you want me to say, Isabela?” she asked, looking pointedly at her friend. “He’s dealing with some difficult shit right now, okay? I’m just trying to help him get through it. I don’t have whatever answer it is you’re looking for, here.”

“Are you sure Tevinter is the best place for him to be heading right now?” Isabela asked. 

“No. I’m not sure of that at all,” replied Caitlin, shaking her head. “But this has to be _his_ decision, and right now he can barely stand up on his own, so I hardly think this is a good time to argue the point with him.”

Frye walked over and set a rather scratched and dented tin plate piled with food in front of her, the beans steaming on top of her toast.

“I hope your husband is okay,” he told her, frowning sympathetically. “Takes a while sometimes for people to get their sea legs. Let me know if I can make more tea or do anything else to help.”

“Thank you, Frye,” Caitlin said, grabbing her fork. “The tea seemed to help a lot. I know he appreciated you thinking of him.”

“Anytime,” he said, clapping her on the back. “A friend of Bela’s is a friend of mine.”

Caitlin tucked into her food. It was simple, but well-made and filling. Isabela had abandoned her interrogation about Fenris and was instead telling Dakaar that she wanted the crew to work on making sure they were storm-ready, since they were heading into some potentially bad weather conditions in a few days.

“I remember being caught in a hurricane in Antiva City once as a child,” Zevran said, looking at the ceiling with a wistful smile. “Nearly blew the whole whorehouse over. Several of the patrons had to stay there for two whole days. But I don’t think they minded, based on the sounds coming from the bedrooms. 

Dakaar snorted into his tea at this, and even Caitlin smiled.

“Have you ever been to Antiva, Serah Hawke?” Dakaar asked, turning to her.

“Please, just Hawke is fine. And no, I haven’t been much further north than Kirkwall. I grew up in Ferelden.”

“I think she may melt,” said Zevran, grinning.

“It’s true,” Caitlin conceded, shrugging. “I don’t much like being overly warm.”

“Well, fortunately it’s nearly Harvestmere. It’ll cool down some soon,” said Dakaar. “Though ‘cool’ is relative north of the Free Marches.”

“Isn’t Tevinter hot, too?” Caitlin asked, taking a sip of her tea.

“Incredibly hot, and _dry_ ,” said Zevran. “Like an oven. Unlike Antiva, which is is hot and _wet_. Like a--”

“We get the picture, dear,” Isabela cut in, patting his hand. Zevran grinned impishly at his own unfinished joke.

“Why are you heading to Tevinter, anyhow?” asked Frye, who appeared to finally be sitting down for his own plate of food. Some of the crew on Zevran’s side of the table had finished and left for the upper deck, so he seated himself across from Dakaar. “It’s full of dirty slavers and blood mages. 

“Oh, he’ll get along _great_ with your grumpy boyfriend!” said Zevran, grinning.

“As a matter of fact, that’s precisely why we’re going,” Caitlin explained, ignoring the elf. “We’d like to do something about the slavery part.”

Frye looked like he was about to spit out his tea. 

“You’re going to take on the slave trade? Just you and an elf? That’s a bit ambitious.” 

“If anyone can do it, it’s her,” Isabela said, looking at Caitlin with an expression that was half admiration and half exasperation. “She’s a scrappy thing.”

“Scrappy or not,” Dakaar said, tilting his head, “one pair against an _army_ of mages and slaver thugs is a pretty unfavorable situation.”

“Well, if you know anyone who wants to help, I'll take their names,” Caitlin said, shrugging. “Either way, we’re doing this. It's… _important_ to my husband.”

“Important enough for a suicide mission?” Frye asked around a mouthful of beans.

“Fenris was once a slave in Tevinter himself,” she replied. “He was abused on a daily basis.”

“Well, that’s no surprise,” said Frye. “Most elven slaves are. I’d like to see it end just as much as anybody, but--”

“You don’t understand,” Caitlin cut in, shaking her head. “The Magister who owned him… he did _terrible_ things to Fen. Unspeakable things.”

She took a deep breath, wondering whether to continue and remembering the way Fenris had described the branding ritual, how broken and disconnected he had looked. They wouldn’t understand unless they _knew_.

“Those markings he has were _carved into his skin_ and cauterized with flaming lyrium. He was awake for the whole procedure. And it was so traumatic that he’s shut large portions of his life out of his memory, and every time the really horrible bits come back to him, he spends a day sick and fatigued because it’s so hard on his body to remember his past. All because one sick, power-hungry Magister chose to use Fenris as his personal _plaything_ . So, _yes_... we are willing to risk our lives to save others from that.”

Caitlin realized she was gripping her fork so hard it hurt, her knuckles white with the strain. Zevran’s mouth was agape, and for the first time Caitlin could remember, he seemed at a loss for words.

Frye and Dakkar were both looking at her with expressions of horror and shock. Frye had stopped eating, setting down his fork and looking like he’d quite lost his appetite. The two of them exchanged a look, then Dakkar turned to her.

“I thought they seemed strange for tattoos. By the gods… That's terrible.” He shook his bald head in disbelief.

“That’s why this has to be _his_ decision,” Caitlin said, turning to Isabela. The pirate was looking disconcerted, her skin ashen. “I can’t be the one to tell him no. I can’t do it.”

Isabela met her gaze for a moment, silent, and then nodded.

“I… I understand, Hawke. I had no idea. Maker...”

She reached her hand toward Caitlin’s and wrapped her dark fingers around the pale hand still clenching the fork. Caitlin’s grip relaxed. Isabela had a way of being able to comfort others that seemed intuitive and almost supernatural, and although she could also be infuriating, crass, and abrasive, Caitlin felt relieved today that she was on her side. Zevran finally spoke up.

“No wonder he’s so prickly. I always thought he just needed a good roll in the hay, but now… it all makes sense.”

Caitlin nodded, taking a deep breath.

“He’s been through a lot. And these memories keep breaking through, and it weakens him so much. We’re going to have to be so careful in Tevinter. If he gets caught unawares when he’s like this… we don’t stand a chance.”

Dakaar was looking contemplative.

“I know someone who may be able to help. A mage. She’s Antivan, goes by the name Nadya. We should be able to find her once we reach land.”

“Fenris is… very _wary_ of mages,” Isabela said, frowning. “It’ll be hard to win his trust, even for someone like Nadya.”

 "You know this person, too?” Caitlin asked.

 "Everyone in Antiva City knows Nadya,” explained Zevran. “She’s one of the most accomplished healers in all of Thedas.”

“And she may be able to sway your husband,” added Frye. “She’s an elf and a known friend to Tevinter refugees. She helps others without asking a lot of pesky questions.” 

“It’s worth a try,” said Caitlin. “At the very least, I’m sure I can get him to talk to her.”

Dakaar stood from the table and picked up his plate, making a small bow to his captain.

“I’m going to go ensure that storm preparations are under way, since the men have all finished,” he said in his deep rumble. “I trust I’ll see you again at supper, Serah Hawke?”

“Please, just Hawke,” Caitlin called after him as he left, but Frye shook his head.

“Lost cause, I’m afraid. He’s formal to a fault, that man. I’m just a lowly cook and I can’t even get him to call me Channing unless we’re alone.”

“He doesn’t want the other men to think he doesn’t respect you, that’s all,” said Isabela.

“He doesn’t want the other men to know _we share a bed_ , you mean,” Frye said with a snort. “Not that we do share a bed right now, of course. The bunks are hardly big enough for him by himself, let alone the two of us.”

“Oh, Frye, I’m so sorry! I had no idea,” Caitlin said, feeling guilty. “When Dakaar gave up his cabin, I didn’t realize--”

But the cook held up a freckled hand to stop her.

“Don’t apologize. You’re guests. Newlyweds, to boot. I can make it two weeks without sneaking into his bunk in the middle of the night. I just wish he didn’t think the sneaking was necessary in the first place.”

“Frye, you know how rough sailors can be,” said Isabela, frowning. “He’s not ashamed of you, he just doesn’t want to see you getting harassed by the other men about it.”

“Bah! Half of them are probably closet cases themselves,” spat Frye. “I’ve seen the bedroom eyes some of them give one another when they think nobody notices.”

“Fenris and I used to get looks from the nobles in Hightown when we’d go for strolls,” said Caitlin sympathetically. “Lots of people still don’t think elves and humans should mix, either. I hope eventually people just come to realize that love in _any_ form is a thing worth celebrating. The world could certainly use more of it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Zevran said, lifting his mug. They all took long drinks of their tea. Isabela and Zevran gathered their plates and made to leave, thanking Frye for the meal as they piled their plates near the large washbasin.

“Can I help you wash up?” Caitlin asked, eying the mountain of dishes. Frye shrugged.

“Well, it’s certainly not expected of a guest on this ship, but if you insist I won’t argue. A helping hand and some company is always welcome down here.”

The two finished up their last few bites of food and then got to work, scraping food off the dirty tin plates into a barrel of scraps and then scrubbing them clean in the basin full of suds.

“How long have you and Dakaar been lovers?” Caitlin asked.

“Five years now,” he answered. “But we’ve known one another for twelve.”

“Slow burn, eh?”

“He was reluctant to have a male lover for a long time. He enjoys women, too.”

“So do I,” Caitlin said, grinning. “I had a girlfriend back in Ferelden who would make Isabela look like a tame housecat.”

Frye chuckled.

“What happened to this _talented_ young lady of yours?”

“She died. During the beginning of the Blight.”

“Ah, Hawke… I’m sorry. Darkspawn?”

“Nope,” she said, a wry smile on her lips. “She caught the pox from some absolute _ass_ she was cheating on me with.”

Frye tried to contain a snort and looked sheepish, but Caitlin shook her head, smiling.

“I know, it shouldn’t be funny,” she said, “But it sort of is, nonetheless. Anyway, you were saying?”

“Well, Dakaar had never been to bed with a man before me. It was scary for him. He worried about what people would think. He still does.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around,” Caitlin said gently. “It may just take some time. Little steps. But I know it must be frustrating to want to scream it from the mountaintops when he’s not ready.”

She scrubbed her plate in silence for a moment, remembering the night Fenris left. She could relate to Frye quite a lot more than he realized, she thought.

After a few moments, she remembered she hadn’t asked anyone about Rafael.

“Say, you haven’t seen my Mabari poking around the ship, have you?”

Frye laughed.

“Oh, I’ve seen him. He stole _nine rashers_ of raw bacon off my skillet this morning. I shooed him out of the galley and last I heard he was snoozing on someone’s hammock below deck.”

Caitlin snorted.

“Oh, Maker, that dog! I’m so sorry, Frye. I’ll pay to replace the bacon.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. He’s far from home and confused. Doubtless it helped him feel a little better for the three seconds it took to bolt it all down.”

The two finished the pile of dishes, chatting and laughing, and he fixed a plate of plain toast for Fenris once they were done.

“And this,” he said, handing her a bag of loose tea, “is for _you_.”

Caitlin sniffed it. It had an almost minty smell to it.

“What is it?”

“It’s an herbal preparation called The Whore’s Friend.”

“The what, now?” Caitlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It keeps you from getting pregnant,” Frye explained. “Forgive me if I’ve made any assumptions I shouldn’t have, but I figured hunting slavers while in the family way might make things a little more complicated than you’d like. If you don’t need it, just give it back and we will say no more of it.”

But Caitlin held onto the bag.

“How do I use it?”

“Brew one strong cup each day for two days after you’re intimate with Fenris.”

“We just… our wedding night was two days ago and we… we were a bit careless.”

“Drink two cups today and two tomorrow. It should still work.”

Caitlin sighed, feeling relieved.

“Thank you, Frye. I had no idea who to even ask. How do you know so much about this stuff?”

“Before I decided to run off to play on the ocean with Dakaar, I apprenticed under an apothecary. I can cure headaches, poison your worst enemies, and season eggs perfectly.”  
  
She laughed at this, and, thanking the cook again, she took the plate and the sack of tea and headed back to her sleeping husband.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin writes a letter.

_ My Dearest Bethany, _

_We are a little less than halfway to Antiva City. Just five days gone from Kirkwall and I can’t even begin to describe how much I miss you all. There times I allow myself to stop and think about it, and the sorrow is so heavy I feel like I can’t breathe. I miss Orana’s cooking, and Varric’s bad jokes, and even Aveline’s lectures. And I miss you most of all. The further we sail from home, the more I feel like I’m losing myself, leaving part of me behind in the walls of the city. So I don’t think about it. Distraction has been my saving grace, and standing on the deck in the spray of the wild and beautiful sea has proven very therapeutic for me. Salt water in its many forms, it seems, is life’s panacea for pain._

_Fenris had a nightmare--a memory, he called it--our first night aboard the ship. I’ve never seen him look so scared, Bethany. What that Magister must have put him through, I can’t even imagine. The look in his eyes when he woke… it was the same look I saw on villagers’ faces when Cullen and I were fighting together against the darkspawn attacks in Ferelden. Pure terror. I will never forget his face that night._

_At the same time as this fresh recollection has steeled his resolve to fight back in Tevinter, it’s made me fear for him when we get there. I worry that the flood of memories will break him. And I have no idea how to help him. There is a mage in Antiva who may be able to aid us. I plan to seek her out when we land. I haven’t broached the topic yet with Fen, but I hope he is willing to at least hear what she has to say._

_Our sailing companions have proven to be both kind and capable. Dakaar, Isabela’s First Mate, is a huge bull of a man from Rivain. He’s the gentlest person on the ship, and the politest. He insists on calling me Serah Hawke, in spite of my protests. But the man can raise a huge sail all by himself, and I saw him lift a whole barrel of salted pork with one arm yesterday. The cook, Frye, is his lover, and they couldn’t be more different. Frye is a tiny red-haired man covered in freckles, and he’s as forthright and blunt as Dakaar is cordial and demure. He’s also well-versed in the apothecary arts. And he’s useful above deck, too. We hit a nasty storm yesterday, and he was just as adept at battening down the hatches as the rest of the men twice his size._

_Zevran is, well… Zevran. But he’s been on his best behavior the past few days with Fenris since his nightmare, and they seem to have softened toward one another somewhat. At the very least, neither has threatened the other’s life since we left port, so I will consider that a win._

_I can smell something delicious wafting in from the direction of the galley, so I’m sure Fenris will be coming in any minute now to find me so we can go eat with the crew. I will send this letter as soon as I can once we reach Antiva. Fenris and Rafe send their love._

_I miss you so. Be safe, and remember how much I love you, little sister._

  
_ -Caitlin _


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin tells Fenris about Nadya. The crew cuts loose a little.

Fenris ate his supper slowly, picking a large slab of fish carefully off the bones and pushing it around his plate in the hope that Frye wouldn’t notice he hadn’t actually taken a bite. The accompanying potatoes and carrots were delicious, and he ate his fill of them, even finishing off what Caitlin hadn’t. But he had a sneaking suspicion that if Frye found out he hated fish he’d insist on fixing him something else, despite Fenris being full nearly to the point of discomfort already.

He was relieved when Caitlin got up to scrape her plate, and he joined her hastily, discarding the demolished carcass into the scrap barrel.

“We’re going to have a little fun on deck after the crew cleans up from supper,” Isabela said as she queued up behind them. “Wine and song, to celebrate making it through that storm without casualties. Well, except for that one dinghy, but I got it for a song in Lowtown and I doubt it was terribly seaworthy anyway.”

“A celebration sounds lovely!” Caitlin said, looking thrilled. “I could use a little fun today.”

Fenris gave her a doting grin as he stacked his plate with the others.

“Anything that’ll keep that smile on your face.”

The two left the galley and walked to their cabin hand in hand, enjoying the feeling of the waning evening sun on their skin as they crossed the deck. After two days of tossing waves and rain, the bright sunset in a clear sky was a welcome sight.

“Fenris, we should talk,” Caitlin told him, looking sideways at him as she opened the door to their room.

Fenris took a deep breath. He’d known this conversation was coming, he just wasn’t sure when. He sat heavily on the bed and looked up at her.

“Caitlin, I know you’re worried about Tevinter. I know you’re worried about  _ me _ . But I have to do this.”

She sat next to him and took his hand again.

“I know you do, and I’m not here to talk you out of it.”

Fenris blinked.  
  
“Really?”

“Fen, I told you when you said you wanted to go to Tevinter that if that was what you wanted, that was what we’d do. I haven’t changed my mind. This has to be  _ your _ decision, not mine.”

“Okay,” he said, looking taken aback. “Then… what did you want to talk about?”

“These memories… when we get to Tevinter, odds are there will be more of them. A  _ lot _ more. And the way you’ve been reacting to them… what if we’re hiding out in a cave somewhere while you recover from a memory and we get ambushed and you’re too sick to fight? We both know I can’t hold off a group of mages and slavers all by myself. I’m good, but I’m not  _ that _ good. We need to get you some help.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Dakaar knows someone in Antiva.” She hesitated for a moment. "She's a... a mage. Her name is Nadya. He thinks she might be able to do something for you.”

Caitlin watched the muscles work in Fenris’s jaw as it tightened.

“A mage, you say.”

“Yes,” she answered. “An elven healer who aids Tevinter slaves who escape across the border. Apparently she’s rather famous for it.”

She saw him soften just a fraction at this, and he looked up at her, his eyes trailing down her face to her mouth. She was chewing on her lip again, nervous, waiting for his reaction.

“It can’t hurt to visit her and hear what she thinks, I suppose,” he said. He squeezed Caitlin’s hand. “And stop looking at me like I’m going to sprout wings and breathe fire every time you mention magic, Cait. I know you wouldn’t knowingly put me in the hands of anyone who would use it against me. I know you just want to help. We’ll talk to her.”

A look of relief came over her, and some of the color returned to her face.

“I just want you to get better so we can just…  _ be _ . Without Danarius interrupting all the time, you know?”

“Believe me,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his hand, “I know.”

 

_ BANG, BANG, BANG! _

 

The butt of a dagger pounded against their door, making the pair of them jump, and Isabela’s muffled voice came from the other side. 

“All right, you two, put your pants back on and come drink some wine!”

  
  


*  *  *  *  *

 

In addition to his other talents, Frye, as it turned out, was also a fantastic fiddler. After everyone had enjoyed a fair amount of wine, Dakaar began to beat out a lively cadence on an intricately painted drum between his legs, keeping time as Frye’s bow whizzed across the strings of his instrument.

Isabela pulled Caitlin to the middle of the deck of the ship, and they danced together in the center of a circle of crewmen who clapped along to the beat as they whirled and spun, feet moving with dizzying speed. Zevran and Fenris looked on, leaning against the rail together.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but your wife is quite the dancer,” Zevran said with a note of hesitation in his voice, looking impressed. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“She is, you’re right,” replied Fenris, whose eyes hadn’t moved from her the whole night. He tried to fight back a pang of jealousy as he watched her hips sway and swing, her hand in Isabela’s. He had no doubts about Caitlin’s fidelity, but Isabela had been a comfort to her during those years after he’d walked out, and they had grown close. He was sure it had been an enticing thought, slipping into the pirate’s arms after he left. Not for the first time, he thought to himself that Caitlin was far more than he deserved.

“Do you dance?” Zevran asked, interrupting his thoughts with an attempt at polite conversation.

“I do, actually. I was trained to dance as a slave.”   
  
“Well, I bet the two of you make quite the pair on the dance floor, then.”

It dawned on Fenris at that moment that he had never actually danced with Caitlin.

“You know, I’ve never had the pleasure,” he said, sounding surprised at the realization, and Zevran raised his eyebrows.

“You’re kidding me! Isabela and I dance all the time, and we’re not even officially, well,  _ anything _ . You’ve never danced with your  _ wife _ ?”

Fenris shook his head. Zevran put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him off the railing and toward the dance floor, frowning.

“No. Not acceptable. Go fix it. Go!”

Fenris obliged, the shadow of a grin on his lips, crossing the deck toward where the women were dancing.

“May I cut in?”

Caitlin beamed, taking his hand, and he twirled her twice before pulling her to his chest. Isabela ducked out from the center of the circle, and in an instant she was next to Frye, saying something right into his ear. In the middle of his tune, Frye’s song changed to a slow, sweet melody, and Dakaar’s drumming faded out.

“I was watching you dance,” he said, his tone quiet so that only she could hear. “You’re incredible.”

Caitlin blushed.

“Ah, well,” she said modestly. “Fighting and dancing… not a lot of difference in the footwork, is there?”

They swayed together in silence for a few minutes, listening to Frye’s beautiful song and drinking in the moment. Then he pulled her hips closer to his, sliding one hand to the small of her back and kissing her full on the mouth. Some of the sailors whooped, and Caitlin turned even redder.

The crew clapped and laughed as Fenris pulled away, looking very pleased with himself. They finished out the song together, alone in the circle of people, all eyes on them as they moved, Fenris’s gaze never leaving Caitlin’s. The song ended on a long, sustained note, and he planted another, smaller kiss on her temple.  
  
And then Dakaar took up his drum again and Frye began another fast jig, and this time the whole crew joined in the dance, their steps beating a joyous tattoo on the rough boards beneath their feet as their anchored ship moved gently over the waves.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Caitlin reminisce about falling in love. Fluff and smut.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this out of breath,” Caitlin said as she and Fenris came back to their room an hour later. 

“I can,” Fenris replied, grinning at her and closing the door behind them. “We were all at the Hanged Man and you were  _ spectacularly _ drunk. Isabela and Varric challenged you to a footrace through Lowtown. You made it almost all the way through the market before you twisted your ankle and fell flat on your face. And you couldn’t walk, so--”

“You carried me all the way back to my estate. I remember that night. Well, parts of it, anyway.” A reminiscent smile appeared on her lips as she lit their bedside lamp and then headed to the wash basin to splash her face with cool water. “And I had been  _ winning _ that damn race, too.”

“I was worried you’d broken something. You were laughing and joking the whole way to Hightown, of course. Not a care in your booze-addled brain about your leg.”

“Well, once I was sober again it hurt like the dickens. Had to send for Anders to come fix it. Gosh, that was so long ago...”   


“That was the night I realized I was in love with you.”

Caitlin froze, hovering over the basin with water dripping down her nose. She caught his reflection in the mirror in front of her. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. His hand had drifted to his wrist, touching the place where her handkerchief used to be. She turned to one side, grabbing a towel to pat her face dry.

“When I picked you up, I couldn’t tell if you were laughing or crying. I asked if you were okay, and you looked up with this big stupid grin on your face and said, ‘Well, _now_ I am.’ And then you booped me on the nose.”

“I did  _ not _ !” Caitlin said, whirling around.

“You absolutely did.”

She tipped her head back and laughed, imagining his face, standing there in the middle of the deserted Lowtown market with this injured, drunken woman in his arms, fussing over her and worrying, and then getting a poke on the nose in return.

“And that made you fall in love with me?” she asked, crossing the room to him.

“Oh, no,” Fenris said, wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her close. “I was already there. That just made me see it.”

Caitlin smiled down at him and combed her fingers through his white hair. It was getting long now, the tips of his choppy layers brushing just past his jawline as she tousled them.

“What about you?” he asked her, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of her fingers against his scalp.

“What do you mean?”

“When did you realize you were in love with me?”   
  
“Oh,  _ ages _ before that,” she said, looking up at the ceiling as she recalled the exact moment she realized she’d fallen for the elf. “I was long gone by the time the Nose Boop Incident of 9:32 Dragon occurred.”

Fenris chuckled, eyes still shut.

“It was in the Deep Roads,” she went on. “You’d been slashed by a darkspawn sword. The thing had almost spilled your guts out onto the stone. I was standing over you, holding your head and frantically screaming for Anders at the top of my lungs, and there was just so much blood. You weren’t responding to me, and your eyes had this blank, unfocused look. I kept thinking you were going to die right there in my lap. He healed you, of course. And then a few hours later when we’d made camp, I was scrubbing your blood off my arms. And I kept thinking ‘ _ What if he’d died? _ ’ and having these flashes of what it would be like not to have you around, and the hole it would leave in my life, and I just… broke down. I had to find a corner in a vacant passageway and cry for awhile. Varric found me after a bit.”

Fenris was looking at her again now, studying her face.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing at first. He just stood there quietly. Just being present, waiting to see if I wanted to talk.”

She remembered the look on Varric’s face as though it was yesterday. The dwarf had been surprised to find her alone in the tunnel, bawling into her hands. He’d appeared sympathetic, a knowing expression on his face. After she managed to collect herself, he’d finally said, “It hurts to see someone you love wounded so badly.”

_ Love. _

It wasn’t yet a word she’d used to describe how she felt about Fenris, even in her own thoughts. But as soon as it came out of Varric’s mouth, she understood without a doubt that it was true. She recounted this part of the story.

“And that’s when I knew. Leave it to a bard to point out what you can’t see for yourself.”

Fenris pulled her down onto the bed, and she sat in his lap, her knees on either side of his legs. He had a faint smile on his lips.

“Well. You’d have got there eventually, regardless,” he told her, sliding his hands up to her waist under her linen tunic. “I’m incredibly attractive and my charm is irresistible.”

Caitlin giggled, and he covered her mouth with a kiss, muffling the sound. He could feel little droplets of perspiration sliding down her skin, and she smelled like sweat and wine and sea spray. Fenris suddenly found himself ravenous for her, and he slid his hands upward and lifted her shirt off. She let it slide over her head and onto the floor behind her. 

The flickering light of their hurricane lamp cast harsh shadows and made the curves of her breasts stand out in stark contrast against her skin. He ran one finger over the swell of white flesh that peeked out above her bustier, and his mouth left hers to roam her neck, the taste of her skin salty against his lips.

“Fen,” Caitlin whispered.

“Mmmm?” he replied without pulling away, and she could feel the vibration of his low, rumbling voice against her clavicle. Goosebumps went up all over her shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight? You know what could happen. You just got to feeling better.”

“Worth it,” he mumbled into the crook of her collarbone. He gripped her hips and arched his pelvis upward, and she could feel the hard length of his erection against her crotch. She let out an involuntary moan, and he bit her lightly, eliciting a gasp. She could feel him grinning into her neck.

“You’re bad,” she breathed.

“You like me this way.”

She didn't argue.  He was undoing the stays of her leggings now, and he’d barely gotten them loose before plunging a hand down inside her smallclothes, fingers searching her velvety skin. He found what he was looking for and began to rub against her in little figure-eights. His lyrium was beginning to glow, the pale light illuminating her expression of pleasure as he worked.

She wrapped her hands behind Fenris’s neck and leaned into his touch, then gasped again as he moved his hand further back and pushed two long fingers deep into her slit, sliding them in and out slowly and hooking them forward against the walls of her insides. 

After a few brief moments of this, he drew back out and pushed her off his lap, the skin of his hand shining with her juices in the lamplight. She stood as he pulled her leggings and smallclothes over her hips and down to her ankles with one movement, then undid his own pants hurriedly. His cock stood rigidly upright, throwing a long shadow across his taut stomach. He was not in the mood to wait tonight, and he beckoned her back onto his lap.

Caitlin lowered herself back down over him, straddling him as he guided himself inside her with one hand. He placed his hands on her thighs and pulled her down as he thrust into her, filling her with every inch of his length. Fenris let out a guttural groan, his voice gravelly with desire. He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and looked into her eyes as she rode him, their breathing quickening together.

“I love you,” he whispered to her hoarsely.

“I love you, too, Fenris.”

“And I love the way you fuck me.”

She smiled devilishly at this and shoved him backward so he was laying down now, and he picked her up, staying inside her as he scooted backward on the bed to rest his head on a pillow. She was reaching her hands behind her back now to unlace her bustier, and within a few seconds she had cast it aside, freeing her breasts. 

Caitlin pulled her hair up off her neck into a bundle and held it with one hand, putting herself on full display for Fenris as she moved on top of him. Her other hand slid slowly down the slight curve of her belly and between her legs, and he watched her work her clit, her touch obviously well-practiced as she found her favorite rhythm. She was looking him right in the eye, soaking up his reaction.

Fenris could feel Caitlin’s hot nectar drenching his hips and groin as it ran out of her and down her thighs. Her muscles tightened around him and she tipped her head back, lips parted in pleasure as she panted. He could tell she was on the brink of orgasm and he grabbed her hips, pistoning hard into her now, unrestrained. She cried out softly, suppressing herself midway through so the whole ship wouldn’t hear. And then he felt the rhythmic pulsations beginning around his erection and saw her shut her eyes tight, biting her lip with a whimper and curling forward as she came, struggling not to scream as she rode him through the waves of pleasure. 

As her body shuddered under his fingertips, he felt his gut tighten and he thrust into her faster, grinding upward against her thighs, markings sparking like firecrackers. And then he was lost in his own climax, his nerves alight as his cock jerked against her wet heat. He let out a long, growling breath as he spilled into her.

Whatever it might cost him tomorrow, he’d pay the price. He’d pay it ten times over for this.

She collapsed down against his chest as he grabbed her ass in his hands and slid fully into her one more time, his spasms fading.

“Maker’s breath,” he sighed, his exhalations hot against Caitlin’s ear. “That was incredible.”

“Mmph,” she grunted, the muscles of her thighs trembling violently from the combined effort of her dancing and their lovemaking. The feeling of them quivering under his hands made Fenris smile.

“You’re shaking,” he told her. “Must not have been terrible for you, either.”

“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” she said, sounding exhausted.

“Poor Cait.”

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking him in the eye with a grin.  
  
“Worth it,” she said, and booped him on the nose.


End file.
